tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32445336961117286332024-03-14T00:06:22.891-07:00Hez's TravelsThis is a blog about our family's travels. Read and enjoy (or be bored, whatever :D).Heather Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03350882971891496288noreply@blogger.comBlogger41125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3244533696111728633.post-68779005699035892082014-10-25T19:05:00.001-07:002014-10-25T19:08:37.370-07:00<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Steamboat Adventures, Part 1</span></b></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0s25Va9V8qF83QGfck0Mhi_DXOHI_cBH41NO_cEG9F1VEU8hfOqUwPYT94EtLJsGVLU1rwidDlvMu68b89ufsOFxN158MGUAP-sb2wmTPNqlOu5sZLZxgpT5O7F7pJy90yaTAif3gVqwD/s1600/IMG_3048.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0s25Va9V8qF83QGfck0Mhi_DXOHI_cBH41NO_cEG9F1VEU8hfOqUwPYT94EtLJsGVLU1rwidDlvMu68b89ufsOFxN158MGUAP-sb2wmTPNqlOu5sZLZxgpT5O7F7pJy90yaTAif3gVqwD/s1600/IMG_3048.JPG" height="265" width="400" /></a></div>
<b><br /></b>
<b><br /></b>
<b>Raquelle:</b> Here I am, to write up a stupendously scintillating narrative of
our recent excursion to the Festival of Riverboats in Louisville, KY. (If you
don't know what that is, it's where a bunch of nifty old steamboats have, like,
a steamboat reunion and bring potato salad and sit around in lawnchairs in the
river and reminisce. <i>Hey, Belle of Cappuccino, you 'member that time we run
into a tree snag down in Tucson and like to sunk to death before they plugged up
the hole with tobacco barrels?</i>)<br />
<br />
<b>Heather:</b> There aren't any riverboat
routes in Tucson. <br />
<br />
<b>Raquelle</b>: How do YOU know? *looks
belligerent*<br />
<br />
<b>Heather:</b> Cuz it’s in a DESERT, moron.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5bxUfZklvyZsuVTnV3nyJDWOobkpzG-qh5Uz5omFIIs4u6J5Kzv8IfYlhFJ83jZ0SQjtVITaWVxJ2ML1QQfrK4yhR0Q1sCKr7W6Xn7ES6-Z3Ou9pkVzmDYi6aCkR6mh30pMBZgJXxkwTA/s1600/Steamboat+lolcats.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5bxUfZklvyZsuVTnV3nyJDWOobkpzG-qh5Uz5omFIIs4u6J5Kzv8IfYlhFJ83jZ0SQjtVITaWVxJ2ML1QQfrK4yhR0Q1sCKr7W6Xn7ES6-Z3Ou9pkVzmDYi6aCkR6mh30pMBZgJXxkwTA/s1600/Steamboat+lolcats.jpg" height="400" width="241" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho51fo2rQqqg_WXX9ok6PMRUjGzUl8ofuZXAh0IJeqevXYmB-5OtIJpB14czrF2iKavaW7DjftZdaBM0-9E9bjRk-IkFrA8t3y6GJ2KEP-SH0IlS8NIXIPW2NIkTrlCy6p-NWQiQnWlO1y/s1600/IMG_3889.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><br /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXe8GBVxj_uwAhGKbWwoVHM93gDdULDUVDd9B-QTV236s6i_PB_6VYZYmbEGcd7SJtJTxwHbAiKu_qDAcHqKLIRbwgYTfZmZaq_XnBr0G55juSIAe1_MJrh9TN9ue0fpHe0IMIJBSh0MXT/s1600/IMG_3060.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a><br />
<br />
<b>Raquelle</b>: Anyhow,
about two hundred Civil War reenactors from all over the country attended the
event in period dress. That included US and Grandma and Gramps. Grandma and Gramps
have been married sixty years this summer and we wanted the trip to be a
celebratory vacation for them. Here's a sneak peek of us below, and yes we DO look dashing, don't we? Thanks for mentioning it.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXe8GBVxj_uwAhGKbWwoVHM93gDdULDUVDd9B-QTV236s6i_PB_6VYZYmbEGcd7SJtJTxwHbAiKu_qDAcHqKLIRbwgYTfZmZaq_XnBr0G55juSIAe1_MJrh9TN9ue0fpHe0IMIJBSh0MXT/s1600/IMG_3060.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXe8GBVxj_uwAhGKbWwoVHM93gDdULDUVDd9B-QTV236s6i_PB_6VYZYmbEGcd7SJtJTxwHbAiKu_qDAcHqKLIRbwgYTfZmZaq_XnBr0G55juSIAe1_MJrh9TN9ue0fpHe0IMIJBSh0MXT/s1600/IMG_3060.JPG" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
Now, before I go on, I feel the need to
insert some sort of dust jacket blurb to Peak Your Interest. It needs some sort
of breathtaking plot summary and a bunch of inane leading questions. Let's
see:<br />
<br />
<i>Raquelle was a striking brunette</i> [that part sounds good, I'll
keep that]<i> with a thirst for adventure and ribbon ruching. The steamboats
were handsome and dashing, but underneath their glossy veneer lurked A Past.
When Raquelle and the steamboats met, it was love at first sight--or was it?
Will Raquelle find the thrill her heart yearns for?</i> [We don't exactly know
what that thrill is, but it sounds good.] <i>Will Raquelle get to play a
calliope? Will Raquelle's cat go on a hunger strike while she's gone? Will the
Bad Plumbing Luck that the Sheens can't shake off follow them to Louisville?
Will a bird poop on Raquelle's head like one did a Stan Clardy Civil War concert
a few years ago? Will Heather figure out that Raquelle is talking exclusively
about herself and ignoring everyone else in this blog? Will you REGRET failing
to spend $4.95 on this cheesy Penguin Classic cruddy paperback version of
Raquelle's adventures? </i><br />
<i><br /></i>There, that sounds pretty perky. I oughtta
publish myself on Kindle. I am just. that. good.<br />
<br />
<b>Heather:</b> Don’t
quit your day job.<br />
<br />
<b>Raquelle:</b> Our steamboat adventures actually
began about six months before in the sewing room. There, by dint of working
night and day and often into the wee hours of the morning, the Sheen ladies
churned out 8.5 new dresses, trimmed a hat and three bonnets (mine has a BIRD'S
NEST ON IT), made I-don't-remember-how-many-headpieces, trimmed and made a
pouche pompadour purse, finished a mantle, made a gazillion shoe rosettes, and I
don't remember what else. Raquelle (that's me, in case you've forgotten) was the
Dress Mastermind. Most of the new dresses were designed and/or overseen by my
bossy fingers. Heather was the Rosette Mastermind and cranked out rosettes and
cockades galore. Mom was the Floral and Millinery Mastermind and made all of the
headpieces and corsages and almost everything else pertaining to millinery. Dad,
being a wise and patient man, stayed out of the whole schmazz and only popped in
to periodically compliment the process and recite carefully, "That Looks Nice,
Dear."<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho51fo2rQqqg_WXX9ok6PMRUjGzUl8ofuZXAh0IJeqevXYmB-5OtIJpB14czrF2iKavaW7DjftZdaBM0-9E9bjRk-IkFrA8t3y6GJ2KEP-SH0IlS8NIXIPW2NIkTrlCy6p-NWQiQnWlO1y/s1600/IMG_3889.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho51fo2rQqqg_WXX9ok6PMRUjGzUl8ofuZXAh0IJeqevXYmB-5OtIJpB14czrF2iKavaW7DjftZdaBM0-9E9bjRk-IkFrA8t3y6GJ2KEP-SH0IlS8NIXIPW2NIkTrlCy6p-NWQiQnWlO1y/s1600/IMG_3889.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wednesday-Cat!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
And Wednesday-Cat obligingly kept us company and purred and curled up in the middle
of the dresses in progress whenever possible. </div>
<div>
<br />
<div>
I know you don't really
care about all that, but since I just invested six months of free time into all
that sewing, you are going to hear about it whether you want to or not. In fact,
I think it all bears repeating. We made 8.5 new dresses, trimmed a hat and three
bonnets---<br />
<br />
<b>Heather: </b>I know, I know and your bonnet has a BIRD'S NEST ON
IT--<br />
<br />
<b>Raquelle</b>: Yes, that's right!!! See? Lookee lookee!<br />
<div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw5XzgOIL-AV9kWE7u7tJAggpsHz-YLtX3wex1xeJvk9FVNOofT8nsC1Uw5K_8K8FUYB98ephYNL1ccRg9K3-LxdwHGQMhSdct-2NaGIDz_na1ZfAEeVDwd-PD_embSzOT386TEdlpC7pG/s1600/IMG_4538.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw5XzgOIL-AV9kWE7u7tJAggpsHz-YLtX3wex1xeJvk9FVNOofT8nsC1Uw5K_8K8FUYB98ephYNL1ccRg9K3-LxdwHGQMhSdct-2NaGIDz_na1ZfAEeVDwd-PD_embSzOT386TEdlpC7pG/s1600/IMG_4538.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpnMsZiOR57dtFhKfig4fbN1MtIysCmfKJm04G-hFlaiPeiEGo31_Z106LQlgJJmkEs2mFnJLu0i_TBCZr01vwEzwnErHFGXbKVBhyphenhyphenkEu-rTCrObr304rmnMujt268Fbgws3IGBV_QKAQA/s1600/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpnMsZiOR57dtFhKfig4fbN1MtIysCmfKJm04G-hFlaiPeiEGo31_Z106LQlgJJmkEs2mFnJLu0i_TBCZr01vwEzwnErHFGXbKVBhyphenhyphenkEu-rTCrObr304rmnMujt268Fbgws3IGBV_QKAQA/s1600/1.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<b>Raquelle:</b> And we made I don't-remember-how-many headpieces
and--<br />
<br />
<b>Heather</b>: Here's a sock. Want a sock?<br />
<br />
<b>Raquelle</b>: Why would I
want a sock? I have socks.<br />
<br />
<b>Heather:</b> For your mouth, I mean. I think your
teeth are getting cold, flapping your jaws like that. <br />
<br />
<b>Raquelle:</b> Don't
insult ME, peasant. I made your evening dress undersleeves, you
know.<br />
<br />
<b>Heather:</b> I made your shoe rosettes.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtYSiTa3ddJ0N5VMtAOZNYy-Md8WWMcDOT7KdHPBOD624XoaascEr_Va1Y9Dph_E8TC9u4G5xFJ5NA36liPoSljPz9S5meVGU39RsjXi_ItiogSzn7BDTxsWdwWOJDDSQj0Mxp0c7qu-vA/s1600/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtYSiTa3ddJ0N5VMtAOZNYy-Md8WWMcDOT7KdHPBOD624XoaascEr_Va1Y9Dph_E8TC9u4G5xFJ5NA36liPoSljPz9S5meVGU39RsjXi_ItiogSzn7BDTxsWdwWOJDDSQj0Mxp0c7qu-vA/s1600/2.jpg" height="320" width="212" /></a><br />
<b>Raquelle:</b> I made your
red jacket.<br />
<br />
<b>Wednesday-Cat:</b> BARF. I made a MESS. How 'bout
THAT?<br />
<br />
<i>:Raquelle departs to clean up hairball barf</i>:<br />
<br />
<b>Heather:</b> One
thing you can always count on around here is that a cat will barf at the
Critical Moment.<br />
<br />
<b>Raquelle: </b>*bounces back in* By the way, let me just
crow for a half a sec. We did NOT bring a sewing machine with us to the event.
(Some people we know DID. I'm not mentioning names, but I could, so bribe me
with chocolate if you don't want it broadcasted publicly. *smirk*) Nor were we
sewing the day we left. We finished up EVERYTHING by 11:00 p.m. the night
before. I believe this puts us into some sort of elite category. *preens*<br />
<br />
We Sheens believe in being Vastly Organized, so we Made Great Plans for
how to streamline the event. Heather organized an impressive pile of paperwork
and maps into a categorized accordion file. Raquelle printed daily checklists
for use on the trip to make sure we brought everything with us on the boat each
day. Mom outdid herself organizing outfits and accessories into their
appropriate hangup bags. And Dad made the all-important run to KFC the day
before to load us up with enough fried chicken to feed six people dinner for
several days. We only forgot to check one thing.............<br />
<br />
.......it
wasn't, like, a really BIG thing..............<br />
<span style="text-align: center;"><br /></span>
<span style="text-align: center;"><br /></span>
<span style="text-align: center;">.................I mean, not exactly............................</span><br />
<br />
<br />
...........we forgot
to check the geographical location of the Central Time Zone meridian. We were
sure that Louisville was an hour earlier than home. <br />
<br />
It isn't.
<br />
<br />
However, we were blissfully unaware of this as Dad scientifically packed the van
to the gills. If you've ever traveled with us before (we don't recommend it),
you'll know we bring tons of STUFF. This time was no exception. I don't know how
many hang-up bags we brought, but we brought at least 25 outfits (really),
besides assorted cloaks and wraps. Plus accessories, such as hats, bonnets,
walking sticks, parasols, hoops, kits, cats, sacks, wives, HOW many were going
to St. Ives???? Plus Heather's cockades and displays. Plus enough food to feed
an army. Plus.............why am I telling you all this? It's boring. Never
mind. <br />
<br />
<b>Heather: </b>It really is boring. And you're never going to finish
this blog if you keep prattling like that.<br />
<br />
<b>Raquelle:</b> Anyhow, all of that
stuff had to be packed JUST SO, so when Heather foolishly tried to retrieve her
lunch from the cooler in the back of the van (because I forgot to pack her lunch
with everyone else's in the FRONT of the van), she underestimated the precision
of the system and foolishly opened the back door without any sort of protective
hazmat gear. What a corkbrain. Immediately, as though summoned from afar, the
glass vase we'd intended to put Grandma and Gramps' anniversary flowers in,
cheerfully popped out of the corner it was wedged into and splintered into a
thousand pieces on the ground. Physics at work, right there.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5ZAadXjmdizmLFWYgsoK1XHkwClgbOumEfkzEn09p5n3RfgMTemLo98GSQRGCsIpXulgb21nrjDROnCeOCNo2S_M12ZzLwlg2lyNnBqfAmC0k17hwqLGsXYXIeyqn_gd0m1z374uB-YSM/s1600/3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5ZAadXjmdizmLFWYgsoK1XHkwClgbOumEfkzEn09p5n3RfgMTemLo98GSQRGCsIpXulgb21nrjDROnCeOCNo2S_M12ZzLwlg2lyNnBqfAmC0k17hwqLGsXYXIeyqn_gd0m1z374uB-YSM/s1600/3.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a>Oopth. <br />
<br />
We all LOOKED at each
other expressively. I mean, except for me. I was studiously trying to avoid being noticed, since it was my fault for forgetting about Heather's lunch in the first place. *cough*<br />
<br />
It was okay, though.
We had to gas the van anyway, so we simply picked a gas station next to a
Walmart and got a replacement vase. No Sheen vacation is complete without
stopping at a Walmart for SOMETHING, so we all felt better that we'd gotten that
obligatory stop out of the way right off the bat.<br />
<br />
The drive was
uneventful. I was on the whole rather thankful that my half-state of exhaustion,
induced by late nights and a tiresome cold, made me sleep most of the trip,
because I DESPISE driving through the mountains. I have never learned to
appreciate the thrill of whizzing down a precipice with a semi on one side and a
concrete wall on the other. <br />
<br />
<b>Heather: </b>Get a grip. It’s called GREAT
SCENERY! Enjoy it!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyxyXclhI91OMGYZTb56PcT4hNE8p7vz5zkN3yTw_hQEQtBXCJnxnB83CvFk559WH_LYW6VFeN1CwfgK8MNQGH2jsqvolyKvFSebmex5EHFSjftbtDDRxDBwnCBDgVUzFRpe1eAjoR3BBe/s1600/IMG_4054.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyxyXclhI91OMGYZTb56PcT4hNE8p7vz5zkN3yTw_hQEQtBXCJnxnB83CvFk559WH_LYW6VFeN1CwfgK8MNQGH2jsqvolyKvFSebmex5EHFSjftbtDDRxDBwnCBDgVUzFRpe1eAjoR3BBe/s1600/IMG_4054.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Somewhere in North Carolina, I think</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<b>Raquelle</b>: Yeah, whatever.<br />
<br />
We arrived at The Brown Hotel about
twenty minutes before Grandma and Gramps. The Brown was built in 1923 and is
Very Grand and Very Charming. The only real amenity it lacks is a big, free
Hampton-Inn style parking lot. Our oversize van doesn't fit in parking garages, so we opted
for the valet parking option. This, coupled with the arduous process of
unloading the van, made us form an immediate and close alliance with the patient
bellhops, who outdid themselves to be helpful during our stay. We recommend
them. <br />
<br />
<b>Heather:</b> They never once expressed their (undoubted)
stunned amazement at the volume of STUFF we had. However, we still felt the need
to explain ourselves and assured them that all that STUFF was for SIX people,
not FOUR. “Oh, no big deal,” they said. Which was very polite and inaccurate of
them.<br />
<br />
<b>Raquelle:</b> We quickly set up a vase of yellow flowers in
Grandma and Gramps' room, plus an anniversary goody basket to s'prise them when
they arrived.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirzwkApJdkt-9HCNsS9L6oIFGEapuUtCSRcJOi-RS7S1r3hh7abN0IoQkAbj2MDcPt2LXWnK2ySXdeVzm6YsubZCwT5-DWoyrusLWg8SCN0aRxY2g6GqBY0PQq7EbRZ1j_ZbxgyFNxtEZF/s1600/IMG_4063.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirzwkApJdkt-9HCNsS9L6oIFGEapuUtCSRcJOi-RS7S1r3hh7abN0IoQkAbj2MDcPt2LXWnK2ySXdeVzm6YsubZCwT5-DWoyrusLWg8SCN0aRxY2g6GqBY0PQq7EbRZ1j_ZbxgyFNxtEZF/s1600/IMG_4063.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
Then Mom and I started putting away the chaotically-strewn hang-up
bags that were making the rooms resemble a poorly managed government-funded
construction project. Suddenly, panic struck. We could NOT find Gramps' two
1860s suits. Since they had been made especially for this occasion and formed
the bulk of his wardrobe for the weekend, to not have them would be Disastrous
In The Extreme. Mom and I began to spaz and paw frantically through all the
bags, our stress level climbing faster than the national debt (which grows at
$10 million per minute, if you believe <i>Yahoo! Finance</i>. I don't, I think
it's more like $15 million). Finally I realized that the suits had fallen off
their hangers and were hiding in the bottom of a bag. Ohthankgoodnesstheretheyaremusteatchocolate!!!!!<br />
Crisis
averted!!!<br />
<br />
Grandma and Gramps arrived next and we gave hugs and said
howdys. It was about this time that we made the discovery that, um, Louisville
is on Eastern time. Instead of having an extra hour to leisurely unpack, eat
supper, and set up Heather's cockade table display at the Meet-and-Greet that
evening, we had......um.......not very much time. Heather and I raced downstairs
and rapidly set up her table display.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBRiCxYAX9Ye6m-GthS8raLcmwSQdoG0NNHb7eq38cDdDtLLe8_o6eXAtbd9MLxjhnykicgaOAEc7OIfvDCYQsYNigyMZpKAHH3Gw9UCvAyffPd1XF3ORk4YVjCVyfIqsmkNGqXrFXQvLi/s1600/IMG_4074.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBRiCxYAX9Ye6m-GthS8raLcmwSQdoG0NNHb7eq38cDdDtLLe8_o6eXAtbd9MLxjhnykicgaOAEc7OIfvDCYQsYNigyMZpKAHH3Gw9UCvAyffPd1XF3ORk4YVjCVyfIqsmkNGqXrFXQvLi/s1600/IMG_4074.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Heather talks about cockades with interested visitors</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Browsing visitors soon arrived and Heather
had a steady stream of traffic all evening, admiring her original cockades and
exploring all the goodies she had for sale. I stood around and tried to answer
questions and Look Like A Big Wig. <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6m2epwKD_8hV2ojPEqVIuOFY_4y9xExyIHnvfkOntILU_BflzlwpssBOq_OSkkgIODCFn6v0uPLHCUdyYmc-L824JBI-OzLY3wp49Fs3fNr_5SfwUCLYPpLSKViBNtAdIiS0m3MVSqjEr/s1600/4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6m2epwKD_8hV2ojPEqVIuOFY_4y9xExyIHnvfkOntILU_BflzlwpssBOq_OSkkgIODCFn6v0uPLHCUdyYmc-L824JBI-OzLY3wp49Fs3fNr_5SfwUCLYPpLSKViBNtAdIiS0m3MVSqjEr/s1600/4.jpg" height="239" width="320" /></a><br />
<br />
Heather keeps me fairly up-to-date on
all things cockade-related, so it wasn't too hard to Look Knowledegable. She says she wants to hire
me, but all the tasks she wants to hire me for are all the things she doesn't
want to do. Coincidentally, I don't want to do them either. Besides, she never
listens to my advice. I keep trying to get her to start a line of edible
cockades with Hershey chocolate bars in the middle and she's like, <i>nope, can't
find documentation for that. </i>Hmph. Stickler. So I stick to teaching music
lessons.<br />
<br />
<b>Heather:</b> That’s cuz your music students HAVE to listen to
you. :smirk: <br />
<br />
<b>Raquelle:</b> Precisely.<br />
<br />
That evening the event hostess, Karen
Duffy, called everyone together in the hotel ballroom and gave us an overview of
what would happen that weekend and imparted to us some 1860s etiquette tips. I
like learning about 1860s etiquette. My favorite Victorian etiquette book is the
one with a list of slang no-nos that polite people do NOT say. For instance, did
you know it is considered vulgar and unpolished to tell someone that you're
depressed by describing yourself as "wamble cropped?" Uh huh, be glad I warned
you. It's a social gaffe we're all apt to make.<br />
<br />
By the time the
Meet-and-Greet wound down, we were all tired. Grandma and Gramps were tired
because they had had a two-day drive, besides having just moved to a new town
and new house about a week beforehand. I was tired because I had a cold. But,
like, I don't know why anybody else was tired. We decided to go to bed before we all got wacky.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifiKdCStW4WKwEEBvHiua-x_aXgPBy2aoCICjBtEsIcDT0juc-jk8otceqGAuEFJ7oVBR1l1d6qc-RJIV26uRWsuPjP3tWxs4I5QgABU7GLlV5o0BgmUhVymp9laL_dVwbgIiu7vsk0NSG/s1600/6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifiKdCStW4WKwEEBvHiua-x_aXgPBy2aoCICjBtEsIcDT0juc-jk8otceqGAuEFJ7oVBR1l1d6qc-RJIV26uRWsuPjP3tWxs4I5QgABU7GLlV5o0BgmUhVymp9laL_dVwbgIiu7vsk0NSG/s1600/6.jpg" height="298" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
So we all went to bed,
which I know you don't care about, and eagerly awaited the adventures on the
morrow! Stay tuned!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Remember all those inane questions for
the dust jacket blurb? You know you want the answers, so make sure you read the
next installment. You never know what you might find out..................<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLl_QYVXpsfDEueJ5ITgs87D6x9AfkxW_5jPhrvnQiaFFaYgoutdixbWBRpYPs-QlEtCtbgYQsRgtcfMbEM7lZLnBaIk_wGPOy2EL2pXmNXfdXbfH3Gkxp2AKOkDCKKazhAg45lq6j0QXS/s1600/IMG_4369.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLl_QYVXpsfDEueJ5ITgs87D6x9AfkxW_5jPhrvnQiaFFaYgoutdixbWBRpYPs-QlEtCtbgYQsRgtcfMbEM7lZLnBaIk_wGPOy2EL2pXmNXfdXbfH3Gkxp2AKOkDCKKazhAg45lq6j0QXS/s1600/IMG_4369.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br /></div>
</div>
</div>
Heather Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03350882971891496288noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3244533696111728633.post-17113501421897843582014-06-22T16:29:00.001-07:002014-06-22T16:29:05.895-07:00<div class="MsoNormal">
And NOW, the moment you’ve all been waiting for!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
(No, silly,
not my wedding announcement, I need a guy first, remember? Know anybody?) </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRHos9nEnRelp2Qm8orOErV7dac8orH1yCS_hRafWbIKQ4TgeB_tZ392JCQ1JDNpAiiyZKpkUqENLHpEJf2yxzWtTcu9Svpu3u4W_JcHUGwL3-nM0JNKRsFtK0Sf-2ugb5955cyaOHp0dF/s1600/tx11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRHos9nEnRelp2Qm8orOErV7dac8orH1yCS_hRafWbIKQ4TgeB_tZ392JCQ1JDNpAiiyZKpkUqENLHpEJf2yxzWtTcu9Svpu3u4W_JcHUGwL3-nM0JNKRsFtK0Sf-2ugb5955cyaOHp0dF/s1600/tx11.jpg" height="272" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What
I mean is, Raquelle is BACK, with the latest greatest adventures from the Family
Reunion! Sit back and enjoy DAY TWO!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">DAY TWO </span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
(oh wait, I just said that)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b>Highlight:</b> I
should say “getting out of bed,” but that’s never a highlight for a non-morning
person. However, those who WERE morning people appeared to be deeply enjoying
the morning’s breakfast of some kind of waycool fancy omelette thingie. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b>Lowlight:</b> My
stomach wasn’t awake enough for a waycool fancy omelette thingie. I blearily
gnawed a cold piece of gluten-free banana bread. The world is a glooby bluggy place in the morning. This is me:</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGcBLBu6b8ZOAnbm61ryAR6nbxEXbOkF3HLBIoRJYBU0UuDtXNJWThuV3B0BRP7-gzF5t1ZE4onY1bPyVVbmreB9cEFtw7gP7yUl08z6SD-1b8u6t-mWPJD5QlUv2dFkZwxduphyphenhyphenVpK2k6/s1600/TX12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGcBLBu6b8ZOAnbm61ryAR6nbxEXbOkF3HLBIoRJYBU0UuDtXNJWThuV3B0BRP7-gzF5t1ZE4onY1bPyVVbmreB9cEFtw7gP7yUl08z6SD-1b8u6t-mWPJD5QlUv2dFkZwxduphyphenhyphenVpK2k6/s1600/TX12.jpg" height="265" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b>WHOA! Insertion from Heather: </b>You can't just skip over breakfast like that! :iz shocked:<br />
<br />
<b>Heather Highlight:</b> The waycool Breakfast Team headed up by the Awesome Uncle Mitch created Amazing Omelettes for us. Notice all those capital letters? That shows my enthusiasm! They were excessively good.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp1VM6c-TCbsdnfkgZ-m9VTWbEMqPtKK7F6TLEqYxINLFD1TimgWKL7U7pllqQi5zIEBer9UlO9GWPFQdsueBNmWXe1T0dtKlr1_rx54StRtcfnwJddtjnZzpIiy2rnPAnzCZZlxQr4k9D/s1600/IMG_1280.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp1VM6c-TCbsdnfkgZ-m9VTWbEMqPtKK7F6TLEqYxINLFD1TimgWKL7U7pllqQi5zIEBer9UlO9GWPFQdsueBNmWXe1T0dtKlr1_rx54StRtcfnwJddtjnZzpIiy2rnPAnzCZZlxQr4k9D/s1600/IMG_1280.JPG" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Unca Mitch cooking</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAngZ_IssC6BZGmASYeJVvkoSKnjMMrcLnc_YhdgBPhyr9ip7GuWbgAIBptR8gZmdwjZuZoDFpLLiPhZSKp_Yua5FFZ1-ChsvIpvDOAkNsGdn-DMvphAfgHLQkvgo760MVTOGut1Sgn4nv/s1600/IMG_1286.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAngZ_IssC6BZGmASYeJVvkoSKnjMMrcLnc_YhdgBPhyr9ip7GuWbgAIBptR8gZmdwjZuZoDFpLLiPhZSKp_Yua5FFZ1-ChsvIpvDOAkNsGdn-DMvphAfgHLQkvgo760MVTOGut1Sgn4nv/s1600/IMG_1286.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Yumyumyumyum</div>
<br />
<br />
<b>Heather Highlight:</b> Also, the breakfast conversation was tremendously fun. Once everyone downed an omelette or two and chugged enough coffee, the entertaining stories started to flow. A fun aspect of our family is that it is LOADED with storytellers. I just about laughed myself sick over Uncle Brian's tales of <i>Varmints In The Woods </i>and Hannah's story of<i> Joshua And The Cheese</i>. :D :D<br />
<br />
OK, back to sis.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Raquelle:</b><br />
<b>Highlight:</b> Everyone
assured me that the pond was so stuffed with fish, you couldn’t NOT catch one.
I’ve always felt deprived and incomplete in life that I have never yet caught a
fish, so this made me happy.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b>Highlight</b>: Tim
agreeably promised to take me out to the gazebo overlooking the pond and show
me all I needed to know about fishing.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b>Highlight:</b> Tim
was unperturbed by my Extreme Reluctance to whack up a worm and put its
dismembered fragments on a hook and obligingly did the dirty work for me.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b>Highlight</b>:
Sheila joined us for a few minutes and overawed me with her ability to whack up
aforesaid worm herself and bait her own hook.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzu2A6w9vUFEODodsJ326yIrKHUX2LGgq5ffvYFkRzw4nkNMtgf4bWtYlU-Ur1-bfM1KkE2VlE2BR6SkWL85iwnPt_o2Gwu4qli8sAtOdhyhE_nPHb_QYoLLtNclb3XR61AG7PVe_uAK4P/s1600/IMG_1287.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzu2A6w9vUFEODodsJ326yIrKHUX2LGgq5ffvYFkRzw4nkNMtgf4bWtYlU-Ur1-bfM1KkE2VlE2BR6SkWL85iwnPt_o2Gwu4qli8sAtOdhyhE_nPHb_QYoLLtNclb3XR61AG7PVe_uAK4P/s1600/IMG_1287.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<i>Sheila and Tim: Mighty Worm Wackers</i></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b>Lowlight</b>:
Sheila occasionally found relief to the jar the dismembering process afforded
her finer feelings by verbalizing the problem. “<i>Ooooh yuck, you can see its guts</i>!” she’d say, or “<i>Eww, it’s still wiggling</i>!” I implored
her to keep it to herself. In retrospect, I’m concerned about the long term
psychological effects of repressing one’s conscious and subconscious feelings
when confronting a scene of harrowing violence to the <i>Oligochaeta</i> subclass, and I hope she doesn’t have any long term
emotional traumas from my request. Also, that if she does, she won’t sue me.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b>Lowlight:</b> Some
stinkin’ worm snatched my bait of the hook and ran off with it. Fink! I
expostulated loudly and told the nasty fish what I thought of it. (Hint: It
wasn’t complimentary.)</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b>Highlight:</b> Sheila
explained to me that one of the most fun parts of fishing is talking trash
about the fish. I agreed.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b>Highlight:</b> Tim
patiently re-baited my hook. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b>Highlight:</b> I
CAUGHT A FISH! LOOK AT ME! LOOK AT ME! I CAUGHT A FISH!!!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh41bUIFQwc_5MahuQSsKs-iiTOnUtQaFTGpNVNmwUvUhfsCPe7gHOv2IreH6GyffyZCm3BtSgkR9SHuXAJ-fdv5IUwXT0c9htZ6NwB3Zk2SdnsBI-SwVzgfhQJCSugB0_Mps94CmOBI4F7/s1600/IMG_1296.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh41bUIFQwc_5MahuQSsKs-iiTOnUtQaFTGpNVNmwUvUhfsCPe7gHOv2IreH6GyffyZCm3BtSgkR9SHuXAJ-fdv5IUwXT0c9htZ6NwB3Zk2SdnsBI-SwVzgfhQJCSugB0_Mps94CmOBI4F7/s1600/IMG_1296.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br />
<!--[endif]--></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b>Lowlight:</b> It
wasn’t an impressive fish. It was a peevish 6-inch blue gill. I threw it back. That
is, Tim threw it back. Do I look like the kind of girl who could take a fish
off my own hook? Ha-ha-ha! Thank you, next question. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b>Highlight</b>:
Over the course of the next hour or so, I caught THREE MORE FISH!</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b>Lowlight:</b> They
were all silly little fish.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b>Highlight:</b> Of
course, I don’t have to tell people that they were silly little fish. I can
just swagger around and say, “Who me? Yeah pal, I caught FOUR FISH” and
everybody will be, like, awestruck or sompthing.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b>Lowlight:</b> Dad
says I throw a ball like a girl. (I do.) I also cast a fishing rod like a girl.
Tim could sent his hook sailing out across the pond, where it would fall in
about six miles away. I could only get my hook about six feet away. I mean, on
the good tries. I might have caught four fish, but I also caught my own fishing
rod, Tim’s fishing rod, AND the gazebo. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Tim was patient and didn't say the things he was probably thinking about silly dumb gurlz.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihsNN6rIWMk2EkpesHByp5ruZ0TnCAv2InUcgUkUR7u0FrmFFkNOgOAlQXZtQYnerM9c_f8KqXvl3F1KYKJLL0eZrsH3zpqXyMTMnEIXyK1oNLxlEm40n3PM7hMn3mRLWlCSHcRvj7YHLy/s1600/tx19.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihsNN6rIWMk2EkpesHByp5ruZ0TnCAv2InUcgUkUR7u0FrmFFkNOgOAlQXZtQYnerM9c_f8KqXvl3F1KYKJLL0eZrsH3zpqXyMTMnEIXyK1oNLxlEm40n3PM7hMn3mRLWlCSHcRvj7YHLy/s1600/tx19.jpg" height="298" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b>Lowlight</b>: I
really wanted to catch a giant tuna......Alas! Someday, maybe, when I'm truly reaching for the stars and following my heart............. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh639lrrndRqjyTJ27FenRhLUogU00bB3grsgKqd0Ha5Z4_tUzsQhCZ1U2c7Zjh3E_hUyAX587tLPsON6Xjdq1__MLiXsWB-LjrHyKMWXgUxBmyoDPefQ87yNJgcRhDJyVorNDZK9zwunOJ/s1600/TX+18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh639lrrndRqjyTJ27FenRhLUogU00bB3grsgKqd0Ha5Z4_tUzsQhCZ1U2c7Zjh3E_hUyAX587tLPsON6Xjdq1__MLiXsWB-LjrHyKMWXgUxBmyoDPefQ87yNJgcRhDJyVorNDZK9zwunOJ/s1600/TX+18.jpg" height="400" width="335" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b>Highlight:</b>
Hangin’ out with Tim. He’s a goofball. His sense of humor kept me in stitches. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b>Lowlight</b>:
Watching the rippling water eventually made me slightly seasick, even though I
was standing on firm ground. I called it quits and went in. Some seaman <i>I’d </i>make. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b>Highlight:</b>
Elsa and Jason and I went to WALMART. Because, you know, someone must go to
Walmart every single day. It is the Law of Reunions. Maybe more than once! Elsa
and Jason were in quest of a volleyball, so they could be all active an' stuff. I was in quest of ingredients for
banana pudding, so I could get fat an' stuff, I guess. <span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_BHj47ksytIlk2b_1LZX0lBHQd-_781ep4tBlQRQ2tFgpjF0DsKkjJUQREe_TtVwLeGGuVOfK0O5CB7jQhIrJsr7PDaEWw_uAAKYU4KNqGz6Lz8r98XgEscSpMSgonGxpViEGYnfMrj67/s1600/TX13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_BHj47ksytIlk2b_1LZX0lBHQd-_781ep4tBlQRQ2tFgpjF0DsKkjJUQREe_TtVwLeGGuVOfK0O5CB7jQhIrJsr7PDaEWw_uAAKYU4KNqGz6Lz8r98XgEscSpMSgonGxpViEGYnfMrj67/s1600/TX13.jpg" height="400" width="341" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b>Highlight:</b>
Aunt Carol caught us on the cell phone at the critical moment when we were JUST
about walking out the door at Walmart to inquire if we’d looked at the grocery
list on the fridge. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Grocery list? *cough*</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Um, so we went back into Walmart and came back laden with
Ro-Tel canned tomatoes, peppers, and paper towels. (Trust us, the paper towels
give the fajitas extra flavor.)</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b>Lowlight:</b> I
signed up for meal clean-up after lunch. What was I thinking????</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4CbglP8-M8QlnlUHWBoPG_OtjrPJHaJEjCstzDY-5ivEHLat52vAJlZmiC4z0Hwe5Moi7lbHyzVy75i4XFkHhLo1NYo56B-sF4DCnoEEui8Iyxcd1sxC3Npd_hHEohyphenhyphenDnFk2IDjLOtTW7/s1600/TX+23.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4CbglP8-M8QlnlUHWBoPG_OtjrPJHaJEjCstzDY-5ivEHLat52vAJlZmiC4z0Hwe5Moi7lbHyzVy75i4XFkHhLo1NYo56B-sF4DCnoEEui8Iyxcd1sxC3Npd_hHEohyphenhyphenDnFk2IDjLOtTW7/s1600/TX+23.jpg" height="400" width="298" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b>Highlight:</b> Hannah signed up for clean-up too, so we had fun cleaning up and scrubbing handwash together.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b>Highlight:</b> After
lunch I made banana pudding. Yum! Slurp! Nermy, nermy! (Grandma’s favorite
word!)</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwtJUn7aouxiUyeikKCxRt2QiflfYRqT7hVBoE-kYd-Q9AibHp-tfEt6fxFNoV4gAjtyLWI46nGoTp-PXCvMtghD0AMH6TEE6kiVcQufksRaAjcEB6LsNmryKiQIEkgiTHAqNUulJyI71o/s1600/IMG_2272.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwtJUn7aouxiUyeikKCxRt2QiflfYRqT7hVBoE-kYd-Q9AibHp-tfEt6fxFNoV4gAjtyLWI46nGoTp-PXCvMtghD0AMH6TEE6kiVcQufksRaAjcEB6LsNmryKiQIEkgiTHAqNUulJyI71o/s1600/IMG_2272.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b>Lowlight</b>:
After lunch, Aunt Sarah had to head for home. We all lined up in a big gaggle
and waved goodbye as she beetled off down the driveway.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b>Highlight:</b>
After lunch, Mom and I, armed with six pages of handwritten instructions (no
joke) from our local seamstress, undertook to do a fitting with Gramps on the
new civilian outfit our friend is sewing for him. (We personally have not
ventured into sewing gents’ clothing yet.) </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b>Highlight</b>:
Gramps is a patient fella. We kept him at the fitting for about an hour. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b>Highlight</b>:
Gramps is also a handsome fella. He looked dashing.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbzLMDBZdzibQZh9L5LvccmqGpwqOmATNT_ei8_uMXBmoRgt_90c6M4UJqPH_xk8S9i-E_I_dAJ0qO9nyBm6m0vQx09WpL8aHvWZoEP1vR24Qea84PCytfrC0HB9dOqkkuNvVSabF7RSPb/s1600/IMG_2171.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbzLMDBZdzibQZh9L5LvccmqGpwqOmATNT_ei8_uMXBmoRgt_90c6M4UJqPH_xk8S9i-E_I_dAJ0qO9nyBm6m0vQx09WpL8aHvWZoEP1vR24Qea84PCytfrC0HB9dOqkkuNvVSabF7RSPb/s1600/IMG_2171.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Yes, the Roberts ARE the backbone of Texas history, </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>thank you for asking. </i></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b>Highlight:</b>
Fitting Grandma for her new ball dress and evening bodice. This went quicker,
since I actually knew what I was doing this time.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b>Highlight:</b> Grandma is an elegant lady. She looked
chawming!</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b>Highlight:</b> I’m
ackshually pretty stylish myself. *preen*</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEintol_hhyO6Adscg3-vgJKsWfiX6Nd72Yg_559dpOJZAcHWd8G_rhZXuAt0lPpJ7PlYbl5JSWRwgY9KsNGX5SHa8AHGJVOQWfAX0I_zPrI4tEM2Hn63XXmvhypW68pKl9w1rE9TgC1Iajz/s1600/TX20.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEintol_hhyO6Adscg3-vgJKsWfiX6Nd72Yg_559dpOJZAcHWd8G_rhZXuAt0lPpJ7PlYbl5JSWRwgY9KsNGX5SHa8AHGJVOQWfAX0I_zPrI4tEM2Hn63XXmvhypW68pKl9w1rE9TgC1Iajz/s1600/TX20.jpg" height="337" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b>Highlight</b>: Did
I mention that there are people who actually like to cook in this family?
Dinner was DELICIOUS!</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM_abMhk93cSyusHEdHz3ECa7JhHAa0SR8D1DvNkqI3J7K3j6GzOVttHWRkcZh52ToIvOQ8jh5VARmOCH_Mlx_zMsKzjka6xckeevmt0CNpK8l8XBiBLmz9ZoSzILS4__GLDnanuC4IRxd/s1600/IMG_1318.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM_abMhk93cSyusHEdHz3ECa7JhHAa0SR8D1DvNkqI3J7K3j6GzOVttHWRkcZh52ToIvOQ8jh5VARmOCH_Mlx_zMsKzjka6xckeevmt0CNpK8l8XBiBLmz9ZoSzILS4__GLDnanuC4IRxd/s1600/IMG_1318.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<i>Y'know, this is turning into a food blog, not a reunion blog!</i></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b>Highlight:</b> While
the parents sat around after dinner and conferred with Grandma and Gramps on
some stuff, all us cousins went for a WALK. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b>Highlight</b>: I
have cool cousins.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b>Lowlight:</b> Most
of my cousins are in better shape than I am. They rapidly outpaced me.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b>Highlight:</b>
Susie and Sheila obligingly dropped back with me and we solved the world’s
problems. The Founding Fathers ain't got nothin' on US.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTW-pswB6czpDFCT_x6e-l9SjxyRpvDe_vUOPlifX-shNuGpzp09QBZzD0ndXILfomj-S3NuHaHPZGBK-RAkH9KJCbM_7gQa36-ihUXwcilO3JQCtmhAPWcelQT6b4eh-2CjS5m6t7bg1n/s1600/TX+16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTW-pswB6czpDFCT_x6e-l9SjxyRpvDe_vUOPlifX-shNuGpzp09QBZzD0ndXILfomj-S3NuHaHPZGBK-RAkH9KJCbM_7gQa36-ihUXwcilO3JQCtmhAPWcelQT6b4eh-2CjS5m6t7bg1n/s1600/TX+16.jpg" height="400" width="266" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b>Lowlight:</b> Are
we STILL walking? Can we turn around now?</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b>Highlight:</b>
Everybody else finally turned around.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b>Highlight:</b>
When we returned, Susie and Tim and I tried our hand at fishing again. I didn’t
catch anything this time, not even the gazebo.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6o_AFq5xww-DWwpw1-IFaiLHUEYvyFHqYAP00Zy1x2_5iqjCScdGiRcZYKU7bN0s-RMfuNdc46UamNQR7dI4Rpy9dM2eTE-EypRtGpASfhvmqBQXwfdALR5AGnxk_LQKY5muDPR4hSw4p/s1600/IMG_2291.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6o_AFq5xww-DWwpw1-IFaiLHUEYvyFHqYAP00Zy1x2_5iqjCScdGiRcZYKU7bN0s-RMfuNdc46UamNQR7dI4Rpy9dM2eTE-EypRtGpASfhvmqBQXwfdALR5AGnxk_LQKY5muDPR4hSw4p/s1600/IMG_2291.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b>Lowlight</b>: The
parents had been talking the whole time and hadn’t cleaned the kitchen yet. Can you believe that?!!?!?! Bummer! </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpIceo2G2Ff6XwHJc9sa4RIOuUyN83WX-HqS2oDOjUL4NjfLRxxUYLl7sewSZIoIX8eMdb1iEL-hQcWIbj-4rYOnVeaIjqGvjYg4XLmm5rJQ8j5zzokuRXOdge5HPCmfv7GRGDJpD5dQ2C/s1600/TX+24.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpIceo2G2Ff6XwHJc9sa4RIOuUyN83WX-HqS2oDOjUL4NjfLRxxUYLl7sewSZIoIX8eMdb1iEL-hQcWIbj-4rYOnVeaIjqGvjYg4XLmm5rJQ8j5zzokuRXOdge5HPCmfv7GRGDJpD5dQ2C/s1600/TX+24.jpg" height="400" width="298" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
We all pitched in to clean up the mess.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b>Highlight:</b>
After dinner it was time for movie night. That is, time for the slide show of
family photographs that Mom and I had spent two bazillion hours on. It was more
than a thousand photos. And NO, that’s not a nervous tic you see in my left
eyelid, THANKYOUVERYMUCH!</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b>Highlight:</b>
First I made two big batches of popcorn. Like, real popcorn, not that partially
hydrogenated, framinized and glomminated microwave stuff that causes heart
disease, kidney failure, ingrown toenails, and crankiness on Tuesday mornings. We had packed along a great big bag of popcorn, because we ALWAYS bring EVERYTHING, even an EXTRA kitchen sink. Y'know, the essentials.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3MCrReNbHn51UOVG-8ByomHhZUNzm5roOA10bZv1lDTsjuIN93HY1PiHmBfrrkJQpjybnB8eFODNztY1om9jJg-DOcuhD35G6HvZpPcx8LcifMhFyXP0QG-9qMFL4eQ-QRN22dQP9ClNv/s1600/TX+26.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3MCrReNbHn51UOVG-8ByomHhZUNzm5roOA10bZv1lDTsjuIN93HY1PiHmBfrrkJQpjybnB8eFODNztY1om9jJg-DOcuhD35G6HvZpPcx8LcifMhFyXP0QG-9qMFL4eQ-QRN22dQP9ClNv/s1600/TX+26.jpg" height="298" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b>Lowlight:</b> I
think I oversalted it.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b>Highlight:</b>
Everybody ate it anyway.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b>Highlight:</b>
Everyone seemed to enjoy the slideshow. Cries of, “Hey, remember that?” and “Oh,
that was at such-and-such!” and “Wow, we were so little then!” peppered the
viewing. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYpiJpCKJtUOs53zUUZa1TH_Dv3ZjNeCK6JyYzBv0u8fMwmy4lgT-vqsiiKMOpX-TLGUDvFnN6oW7CnMIuccCkZ1_1_ezKTEM17VrcgvNB-cW2nUeap0SAXOmj0Gg65m3op718J5d7PrIv/s1600/IMG_2298.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYpiJpCKJtUOs53zUUZa1TH_Dv3ZjNeCK6JyYzBv0u8fMwmy4lgT-vqsiiKMOpX-TLGUDvFnN6oW7CnMIuccCkZ1_1_ezKTEM17VrcgvNB-cW2nUeap0SAXOmj0Gg65m3op718J5d7PrIv/s1600/IMG_2298.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b>Highlight:</b>
After the slide show, a bunch of folks headed for bed. Some others stayed up to
watch a movie about an action figure named “Mega-Mildew” in a city called “Metro-Citibank”
or something like that (I didn’t catch the details). Heather and I were sort of
TV-screened out, so we went outside and sat on the stairs overlooking the water,
enjoying one of the biggest moons we’ve seen in forever. It was a gorgeous
evening. The frogs were singing loudly and the turtles were........wait, I guess turtles don't sing. Too bad, 'cause there were enough great big turtles at this place to have put the Vienna Boys Choir to shame.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3c4Q2_brxTodPCAVjV1xPq8I709aQqhkNnFSqtCX34XMJh3nRoE0UZbIuCVDbrULoRmC-SXYiF0yexJNS4wxWEvWggbNzAQTuBbhC4SmQDhBrZArQcIpUSEAxD06Umiak6JNAcn03kdmq/s1600/TX+27.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3c4Q2_brxTodPCAVjV1xPq8I709aQqhkNnFSqtCX34XMJh3nRoE0UZbIuCVDbrULoRmC-SXYiF0yexJNS4wxWEvWggbNzAQTuBbhC4SmQDhBrZArQcIpUSEAxD06Umiak6JNAcn03kdmq/s1600/TX+27.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpL1wAvJ7azTAROjNkruL1BjXj01UtakxDzcX0NuJcZvJY7Py-goYqQTr6rYEanKwTt7qlGCJWp_2I_gSocwHfegJVPORj0iK_u0-BBGZ_Qh_0sC0vYeogn-sAHwk0Cp4Bt6AJxg3MxIZA/s1600/IMG_2293.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpL1wAvJ7azTAROjNkruL1BjXj01UtakxDzcX0NuJcZvJY7Py-goYqQTr6rYEanKwTt7qlGCJWp_2I_gSocwHfegJVPORj0iK_u0-BBGZ_Qh_0sC0vYeogn-sAHwk0Cp4Bt6AJxg3MxIZA/s1600/IMG_2293.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<i>Full moon rising over the lodge</i></div>
<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b>Highlight:</b>
Going to bed after a long, fun day........</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzVRVA92tT_v9P4xRSx4elx9lntjqAIA0OqF9KfJxj1PoU30PPYhIxYDThkSz4TsrQXdKyyRST-zkHci1G7VfAYqEwrXQD0gubw2m4Sm1KRaVlXYUezuwoCD0SAMgX3DtZJXEcvHT_IjBW/s1600/TX+17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzVRVA92tT_v9P4xRSx4elx9lntjqAIA0OqF9KfJxj1PoU30PPYhIxYDThkSz4TsrQXdKyyRST-zkHci1G7VfAYqEwrXQD0gubw2m4Sm1KRaVlXYUezuwoCD0SAMgX3DtZJXEcvHT_IjBW/s1600/TX+17.jpg" height="223" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Now don't forget, if you want the REALLY big moment you've all been waiting for (i.e., Raquelle's wedding announcement), you need to <i>interdooce</i> her to somebody, okay?</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTKlsD13FdRsC1o69Yv6ffZUlJCdbYI4NwGIwbbSzspR16-_fEHKIBvhdP5DI4_gmgM1D0FbDVSiouqY4NzjSJyG9-fAis_1KsaNe6GQ8hjLML2T2JGWyG5LsNnZez_KnrtqqfJIQcnTLA/s1600/TX+22.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTKlsD13FdRsC1o69Yv6ffZUlJCdbYI4NwGIwbbSzspR16-_fEHKIBvhdP5DI4_gmgM1D0FbDVSiouqY4NzjSJyG9-fAis_1KsaNe6GQ8hjLML2T2JGWyG5LsNnZez_KnrtqqfJIQcnTLA/s1600/TX+22.jpg" height="320" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<o:p>Stay tuned for <b>Day Three</b>...........</o:p></div>
Heather Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03350882971891496288noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3244533696111728633.post-53784981157146513862014-06-15T21:01:00.001-07:002014-06-22T17:35:34.723-07:00<div class="MsoNormal">
Atten-SHUN! This, ladies and gentlemen and cats and dogs and
praying mantises, is an account of the Texas reunion from the perspective of
that Famous Individual,<b> Raquelle Sheen</b>, whose credentials are as follows: 1)
Owner of four remarkable cats, 2) Second-oldest grandchild, and 3) Author of
the national best-seller “<i>Why People Should Quit Bugging Me About Leaving My
Shoes in the Middle of the Floor</i>.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Prrrrrepare to be amazed................</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrHtY5zYNQHZ2KFdApsuobE9_SBzie_cIQQrZj8Advt36mYAEJWZKHP77iC_fk7Hs1N7Ke75IemI_aCVuFlNq2Hru20GQ662kUeIl58EMX_UjhHMnt5rlqn7chTw0IRTPenDkL7X2FclxZ/s1600/tx+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrHtY5zYNQHZ2KFdApsuobE9_SBzie_cIQQrZj8Advt36mYAEJWZKHP77iC_fk7Hs1N7Ke75IemI_aCVuFlNq2Hru20GQ662kUeIl58EMX_UjhHMnt5rlqn7chTw0IRTPenDkL7X2FclxZ/s1600/tx+1.jpg" height="287" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I will use one of my favorite narrative approaches, the old
highlight/lowlight format. Like this:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Highligh</b>t: I have
a huge bag of M&Ms on my desk</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Lowlight</b>: The IRS
is demanding a 47% tax on my M&Ms. Stupid crackpot government.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Get the picture? Good. Here we go.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
P.S. Not all highlights and lowlights are relevant to the
topic, because that’s too conventional. Next thing you know I might start not
capitalizing anything either or sumpthing else unconventional that will give
Inscrutable Meaning to these, my memoirs. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<br />
***************************************************************</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">DAY ONE</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Highlight</b>: How
cool is a 60<sup>th</sup> anniversary party???!?!? Can’t wait!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Lowlight:</b> It’s a
13.25 hour drive to Mineola, excluding stops.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Lowlight</b>: The
Sheens make lots of stops. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Highlight</b>: We
left only 15 minutes later than we intended on Sunday morning. Usually it’s 30
minutes, so this was pretty cool. (We refer to this as trying to achieve escape
velocity.) The euphoria lasted till at least lunchtime. We felt inclined to
nudge the person next to us at the rest stop sink and say, “Hey pal, did you
know we only left fifteen minutes late this morning?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Highlight:</b> There
is minimal traffic in Atlanta on Sunday morning. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Lowlight:</b> By the
time we were all in the mood for a Dunkin Donuts coolatta, they weren’t listed
on the road signs anymore. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Lowlight:</b> We
despaired of coolattas and got a round of McDonald’s mocha frappes.........and
THEN found a Dunkin Donuts 20 miles later. Alas, too late! We carefully noted
the exit, however, for the return trip. Gotta get those yummy iced coffee slurpies!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-dy31MS-BMU1e9CZZ39EtOqHlfbUG_AyfLFk8uoqTgy2fSg3-JM2ScHDlmAw-e63Yfp6-Vq6ftug2yFMpRH13UTZkP8AmK9p5Ov6h7Hs_EqUKvFE4oTLjW1fIKl-6UbWyrU6nab3VJSRO/s1600/tx5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-dy31MS-BMU1e9CZZ39EtOqHlfbUG_AyfLFk8uoqTgy2fSg3-JM2ScHDlmAw-e63Yfp6-Vq6ftug2yFMpRH13UTZkP8AmK9p5Ov6h7Hs_EqUKvFE4oTLjW1fIKl-6UbWyrU6nab3VJSRO/s1600/tx5.jpg" height="400" width="395" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Highlight:</b> They
stopped putting artificial coloring in the tooth-friendly Xylitol chewing gum I
buy.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Highlight:</b> We ate
supper at a nice picnic table at a rest stop. (Supper was KFC chicken that we’d
bought at home the day before to avoid standing in line for 20 minutes at a
durn fast food place run by dawdling nincompoops)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Lowlight</b>: It
began to rain during supper. We finished eating in the van.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Lowlight</b>: Usually
we use travel time to Brainstorm Something. However, we were all too brain dead
to brainstorm anything. Too bad. 15 hours in the car and not one single
brainstorm. Anyone who tried to brainstorm anything was rapidly quelled by the
other three. Conversation degenerated and we began to long for something stimulating.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2W_GsCPiHhceaZVr5w8sG-vMIQ5IB17q_dIAbZU2QGmOQ8xq55YawI3P9PbpSlQlaGgQnGGwIL8kC2ska6gwDUYH3_pUl8ZWi1odHLCiyigMoELCoiYdkj7tVu1Ahb0FLxALXo8CkxM5B/s1600/tx6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2W_GsCPiHhceaZVr5w8sG-vMIQ5IB17q_dIAbZU2QGmOQ8xq55YawI3P9PbpSlQlaGgQnGGwIL8kC2ska6gwDUYH3_pUl8ZWi1odHLCiyigMoELCoiYdkj7tVu1Ahb0FLxALXo8CkxM5B/s1600/tx6.jpg" height="298" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Highlight</b>: We had
good roads and clear weather the whole drive.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Lowlight: </b>I used
to have three gray hairs in my bangs. Now I think I’m up to seven. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Lowlight:</b> We couldn’t find the driveway for the lodge.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Highlight:</b> We
found it.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Epic Highlight:</b>
Greeting everyone! Arrival time at a reunion is just the funnest thing ever. So
many hugs! <span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Second Epic Highlight:</b>
Having SIXTEEN people swarm to help us unload the van. Wanna travel with us and
be our roadies from now on, y’all? That. Was. Awesome. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOVG-KhH3cGvEue0A8CsvZPFExz_NELfnl1b6jcJ-Veou9W5rUSgm8jA6SOwekyjyV2L21baLKy6tPBOQ-kxnqMkck810hvHmzGRNVryShr7alSKBAC-xV8c1uheztwnGhvk7uk7kd1QA7/s1600/IMG_1989.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOVG-KhH3cGvEue0A8CsvZPFExz_NELfnl1b6jcJ-Veou9W5rUSgm8jA6SOwekyjyV2L21baLKy6tPBOQ-kxnqMkck810hvHmzGRNVryShr7alSKBAC-xV8c1uheztwnGhvk7uk7kd1QA7/s1600/IMG_1989.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Lowlight:</b> I am so
non-techie that I was using the wrong attachment to blow up my air mattress. It
was taking forever. Remind me someday to tell you the story of how I recently thought
I was turning off the water main in our latest water crisis and actually only
turned off the filter bypass, even though there was a large instruction tag on
the water main handle that I had written and affixed MYSELF. Not my best
moment. Like, this would be me:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-Zw1qNU_nYLNPEdT9hIyJoG9M4EV5fI1ABiyUEkJRstEgVKouD4DuHRk5A_2Nl7Z5-aH898kp9p-I9PNndg4soDd9Na40_VRbDE864JSnrxgGqhjIFmgSeMIXf2e0QCpwzxs8E8zQfy24/s1600/tx8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-Zw1qNU_nYLNPEdT9hIyJoG9M4EV5fI1ABiyUEkJRstEgVKouD4DuHRk5A_2Nl7Z5-aH898kp9p-I9PNndg4soDd9Na40_VRbDE864JSnrxgGqhjIFmgSeMIXf2e0QCpwzxs8E8zQfy24/s1600/tx8.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Highlight:</b> Uncle
Kent is much more techie than I am and rescued me from myself. He put on the
right attachment and blew up both air mattresses in approximately 13.7 seconds.
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Highlight:</b>
Staying up too late chatting the other night owls for a little while.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Highlight:</b> Going to bed.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Lowlight:</b> That night I dreamed we were trying to set up our
reenacting camp on the deck of the Titanic. It was pretty wet. We checked out
both ends of the ship and opted for the end with the ankle-deep water instead
of the chest-high water. The water made it really inconvenient to set up camp.
I don’t recommend it, personally.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Highlight:</b> People in the Roberts family like to cook. Can
you believe it? They actually LIKE to cook. I don’t. So I bip out of bed in the
morning and like, WOW, people have made BREAKFAST! At home I barely summon up
the resolve to scramble an egg for breakfast and I vary this with eating dry cereal. No,
seriously. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Highlight:</b> Having a Top Secret Clandestine Meeting with all
the cousins upstairs, plotting our role in the party. We stopped just shy of
plotting a World Takeover. Consider yourselves fortunate.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj01TvPCPJyVSrADuJZKcpmb2U4YJuU7DwoetoHJ5L0xeOOfm_6q1cKfYHWFJACyKYokd91o1eEpFC7QNMWsh1bvfBqiS4QBPxNlZYxmt3y2Z3j4XH5n8SWQflWroIDO66sa43CbwginbqN/s1600/tx3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj01TvPCPJyVSrADuJZKcpmb2U4YJuU7DwoetoHJ5L0xeOOfm_6q1cKfYHWFJACyKYokd91o1eEpFC7QNMWsh1bvfBqiS4QBPxNlZYxmt3y2Z3j4XH5n8SWQflWroIDO66sa43CbwginbqN/s1600/tx3.jpg" height="381" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Highlight:</b> My cousins are cool.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Highlight</b>: I am also cool.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAm-qkS08LbhVMvrqa8zXQk7p31AD16jvoec6XKPr6zyR0F2nZtBZye6PYUQCSAMPvyxxFkhC7B2dKiJekFBnLtk72b0h7C7CFm16dYYcFPJE_GZrTRZQWI7_BJ-TDIWWQnRo18-w0bktl/s1600/tx9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAm-qkS08LbhVMvrqa8zXQk7p31AD16jvoec6XKPr6zyR0F2nZtBZye6PYUQCSAMPvyxxFkhC7B2dKiJekFBnLtk72b0h7C7CFm16dYYcFPJE_GZrTRZQWI7_BJ-TDIWWQnRo18-w0bktl/s1600/tx9.jpg" height="298" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Highlight:</b> I am also humble.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Highlight:</b> Grandma and Gramps conveniently had an errand at
Walmart. While they were gone, me and Uncle Brian and Co. frantically
practiced their special music for the party. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Lowlight</b>: There were thunderstorms bashing around all
morning.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Highlight:</b> Even though they lost power in town, we did not
lose it at the lodge. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Highlight</b>: Sneaking around in Mom and Dad’s room with Mom,
Dad, Monica and Aunt Therese, working on party decorations, making sure we didn't forget anything Highly Critical. Balloons, check. Curly ribbon, check. Cake, check. Confetti, check. Kitchen sink, check.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLrqRqrSJAjXruGkSWFD9fxkz5_cF0Ei4UOrFnde2Pd3xfd8hHHSixbJbH_gJhTaWuVJGCJ1lxvo1K2iRpdMDnlPWWfXgZ_JnMx2u4m5nBhTL_XEaZ5nKSpbL0GcZl2KBlD2BB6aaYLkJF/s1600/tx4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLrqRqrSJAjXruGkSWFD9fxkz5_cF0Ei4UOrFnde2Pd3xfd8hHHSixbJbH_gJhTaWuVJGCJ1lxvo1K2iRpdMDnlPWWfXgZ_JnMx2u4m5nBhTL_XEaZ5nKSpbL0GcZl2KBlD2BB6aaYLkJF/s1600/tx4.jpg" height="320" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoEAhP35Le7idLuXoubA2lpMp9HOCy34nAwD2m39P_gej4WNy5UCb7sk5IaVMSae6gbnp73unONOIJAEKHyV9-SoIUFWO9OrTX1dCNzH8U4Dblk4c9pz0SDz3YjK0dtb933ac6GggsBmsD/s1600/IMG_2006.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoEAhP35Le7idLuXoubA2lpMp9HOCy34nAwD2m39P_gej4WNy5UCb7sk5IaVMSae6gbnp73unONOIJAEKHyV9-SoIUFWO9OrTX1dCNzH8U4Dblk4c9pz0SDz3YjK0dtb933ac6GggsBmsD/s1600/IMG_2006.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Highlight</b>: Decorating the living room for the party. Me and
Tim got our hands on a bunch of streamers and went berserk together. Everybody
else went berserk too. Yes, you can hire us for a very reasonable fee of $1789.43
per event.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Lowlight: </b>My toenail polish chipped two days ago for no good
reason. *miffed*</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Lowlight:</b> Realizing I’d forgotten to pack the jewelry I
meant to wear with my dress.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Lowlight:</b> Finding the jewelry the next day and realizing I’d
forgotten that I hadn’t forgotten. Crud.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Highlight</b>: This crowd is a good-lookin’ bunch of people. As
Mamaw always said, “There’s not an ugly one in the bunch.” Not in our bunch,
anyhow. ‘Cept maybe Uncle Mitch.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">(Fine print: I don’t really mean it, it’s just
a test to see if he actually reads this.)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Highlight:</b> Making a big whoop-de-do as Grandma and Gramps
came downstairs, duly escorted by some of their esteemed grandchildren.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Highlight:</b> My grandparents have been married 60 years. That's spectacular!!!!!!!!!!!!! My grandparents are mighty cool, yessiree.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHexJlj4-LhpJCDdE4HvW3o-OQ4_6tm0wkEaly4RwQK15AQxlWUgKCmXlzKop5XYvS_9_V014prP9kIx4WZ2kEyAZkBsTMz3ZhxID5_DLBTRDaR4bKqhcTwUpfzCQujQjO0FbvbwbNbv5T/s1600/IMG_2014.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHexJlj4-LhpJCDdE4HvW3o-OQ4_6tm0wkEaly4RwQK15AQxlWUgKCmXlzKop5XYvS_9_V014prP9kIx4WZ2kEyAZkBsTMz3ZhxID5_DLBTRDaR4bKqhcTwUpfzCQujQjO0FbvbwbNbv5T/s1600/IMG_2014.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Highlight: </b>Watching all my waycool cousins do a waycool talent show for the party. Crikey, I had no idea that Monica and Steven and Susie and Sheila could sing like that! And the memories that the other cousins shared were hilarious. I especially got tickled at the one about Jason informing his first (second?) grade teacher that Lincoln was LIAR. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Highlight</b>: Enjoying all the party fol-de-rol for the next couple
of hours. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Lowlight: </b>The guy cousins, aided and abetted by several uncles, shot nerf guns at us from the balcony. Can you believe it??!?!?! Outrageous! Dastardly! Finks! </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Highlight:</b> They tried to shoot down a balloon that escaped up the two-story ceiling and missed it. The nerf stuck in the rafter. I'm sure this was what Aunt Carol was thinking..........</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUNAlgPmlTbw9kVeoEQ-Y2vmGPu34t2F5bBqdhpIBApBGUvRc14c1a1M9LUtK-S1lcQXZlf-nnq7655OVKzTqQ-6lOLrAAMusxspKUC_2UEX_nqzgowmsu_1jK_RM_tWbZRpZnE132qHzN/s1600/tx10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUNAlgPmlTbw9kVeoEQ-Y2vmGPu34t2F5bBqdhpIBApBGUvRc14c1a1M9LUtK-S1lcQXZlf-nnq7655OVKzTqQ-6lOLrAAMusxspKUC_2UEX_nqzgowmsu_1jK_RM_tWbZRpZnE132qHzN/s1600/tx10.jpg" height="400" width="295" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
(Epilogue: The nerf was later removed with a long fishing pole.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Lowlight</b>: It was dinner time. Cook? Somebody has to cook?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Repeated highlight:</b> People in the Roberts family ACTUALLY
LIKE TO COOK! A crew of talented chefs whomped up a delicious meal for
everyone. Holy cats. I’m stayin’ here all my life!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdKjFiyrTTW1Et9HvpUp7DOvN09O3Rj7PqEB4k7bHblmtXoH5oudlMRnxc0UzwNkQXjhOmXPXPhcW7NR70U710o9ZiY8g72kL33iW1CrUM-RRo4y8Ep3EP5NTbRQKy3orMPv4pUD6oCsJo/s1600/IMG_1993.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdKjFiyrTTW1Et9HvpUp7DOvN09O3Rj7PqEB4k7bHblmtXoH5oudlMRnxc0UzwNkQXjhOmXPXPhcW7NR70U710o9ZiY8g72kL33iW1CrUM-RRo4y8Ep3EP5NTbRQKy3orMPv4pUD6oCsJo/s1600/IMG_1993.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqvefJojnMJpXoBKFe9GBUzBwwHFCO3vZ0tM-b6QZBNPlsPXHEklFZvjgkdw4O7lR3QHaunuLxlc8iydEn_sEHeaI3wdtVeamJW50Cvd24Z2QktL-Vf4n8zJIqTS-fxr95goYsfs0kST1E/s1600/IMG_2117.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqvefJojnMJpXoBKFe9GBUzBwwHFCO3vZ0tM-b6QZBNPlsPXHEklFZvjgkdw4O7lR3QHaunuLxlc8iydEn_sEHeaI3wdtVeamJW50Cvd24Z2QktL-Vf4n8zJIqTS-fxr95goYsfs0kST1E/s1600/IMG_2117.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">I'll do it! I'll cook supper! </span></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Highlight:</b> Listening to Heather and Monica jam together on the keyboard and sax.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Lowlight:</b> Uncle Kent, Monica, and Steven had to head out for home. Bummer.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Highlight: </b>Per tradition, I called Steven a pipsqueak when I hugged him goodbye, a term which isn't even slightly applicable anymore since he towers over me. However, he grinned and said he didn't mind. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Highlight</b>: Having a traditional Roberts sing-along that
evening. Man, I’ve missed all those times of sitting around singing with Uncle
Mark’s guitar. When we were little kids in California, we used to do that a
lot. And then Heather and I would have to go to bed, but we’d get out of bed
and sneak into the hallway and listen to the music continue while we hid behind
the hallway door. We usually got caught and got in trouble, but it was worth
it.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbWqwuUufyQex9emogK8tLYODEcIS0gC-Le_XZllBO89pfqyQoyMyTICFchEbWpInaa-rFX1Yo5t2j44_tdtvmCGJsTPcMiqzUSjtE7LFB_apfyJT3U6_qe16c-bzBC7JUpESYEyWr-oas/s1600/IMG_2140.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbWqwuUufyQex9emogK8tLYODEcIS0gC-Le_XZllBO89pfqyQoyMyTICFchEbWpInaa-rFX1Yo5t2j44_tdtvmCGJsTPcMiqzUSjtE7LFB_apfyJT3U6_qe16c-bzBC7JUpESYEyWr-oas/s1600/IMG_2140.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Highlight:</b> We all enjoy good ole traditional favorites,
which is great fun. None of this, “I know, let’s sing<i> My Life Is A Epic Tragedy And I Have Angst And Also My Bologna Samwich
Rotted </i>tedious pop stuff.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ9oOZeMgISWsDDT7C6zENeZkE4Y4R5dUWBsoy-YZ1U4RyWGjzVPHgn_dmTT4DwnBf5LegePIbRE-r-XrUjpH8z8Rov8btvJ0ROvRabVUpFKmIhdIOeUDHDoXRKDZAAFn3kqq9-tXVPAD2/s1600/tx7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ9oOZeMgISWsDDT7C6zENeZkE4Y4R5dUWBsoy-YZ1U4RyWGjzVPHgn_dmTT4DwnBf5LegePIbRE-r-XrUjpH8z8Rov8btvJ0ROvRabVUpFKmIhdIOeUDHDoXRKDZAAFn3kqq9-tXVPAD2/s1600/tx7.jpg" height="298" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Highlight: </b>Recycling traditional nonsense songs, including,
but not limited to, “Don’t Take Your Cats to Town,” and “It Ain’t Me, Cat,” and
the ballad about ole butter-fingered what's-his-name, whose talents including drawing
pictures of a cow when he was SUPPOSED to be drawing a gun. (Easy mistake, I’ve
made it myself.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisl08Kw1QY-f-4iIa248EBoLJMTdZrgm6ATeY-KbI17TnfSfA1CYxMO1a9YKlzB6AvI8BLxGWyygvMRfbLb_vHg2FLTlcfqOwLvU3OYqG6QuAs0WzTKBUOVSQwqeJ-t_zCxiM3eoAbvkzM/s1600/IMG_2147.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisl08Kw1QY-f-4iIa248EBoLJMTdZrgm6ATeY-KbI17TnfSfA1CYxMO1a9YKlzB6AvI8BLxGWyygvMRfbLb_vHg2FLTlcfqOwLvU3OYqG6QuAs0WzTKBUOVSQwqeJ-t_zCxiM3eoAbvkzM/s1600/IMG_2147.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Highlight</b>: Learning “All God’s Creatures Got a Place in the
Choir” from Uncle Mark and Jason. A new favorite for me. You can hear the
official version here: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-iP27eatYxE&feature=kp">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-iP27eatYxE&feature=kp</a> but I prefer hearing Uncle Mark and Jason sing it.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Highlight:</b> This family has a powerful lot of good voices. I
haven’t heard the cousins sing much so it was great fun to hear ‘em. Yowsers,
Susie and Sheila can harm-o-NIZE!!!!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Lowlight: </b>That’s TWICE I’ve tried to kill the obnoxious
mosquito buzzing around my computer and twice I’ve missed him. I throw a ball
like a girl, I blow up an air mattress like a girl, and I kill mosquitoes like
a girl. *sigh*</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ7_Me88t9Kev6c2hTmmcWN0qJmSZezcRvMI-1x-1fZ7y-hcCpc0wW5Zn6TvG920NgwuuJxewoqltaUmv1-LdVD1qznxHJnqWBacE-6WZ_pQ404DsNbz1HDQhKfwNy31VOSRQielQ4SZ5X/s1600/tx2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ7_Me88t9Kev6c2hTmmcWN0qJmSZezcRvMI-1x-1fZ7y-hcCpc0wW5Zn6TvG920NgwuuJxewoqltaUmv1-LdVD1qznxHJnqWBacE-6WZ_pQ404DsNbz1HDQhKfwNy31VOSRQielQ4SZ5X/s1600/tx2.jpg" height="400" width="296" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Highlight:</b> I did NOT dream about the Titanic when I went to
bed that night.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Stay tuned for more................</div>
Heather Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03350882971891496288noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3244533696111728633.post-58289843155085390082012-09-26T20:11:00.001-07:002012-09-26T20:11:45.859-07:00Trip to England: Day 3, part 1<b>Trip To England: Day Three</b><br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Raquelle:</b> Heather and Jeannie bipped out of bed and bipped downstairs for breakfast. I, being something of a sleepy cheapskate, blearily made myself a protein drink and nibbled dry gluten-free cereal up in the room instead. That’s more efficient anyway. If it sounds Spartan, don’t worry, I eat that for breakfast at home too.<br />
<br />
<b>Heather:</b> Cheapskate? The breakfast was FREE! Due to good ole Dad and his Marriott points. (World-traveler sugar daddies are awesome.)<br />
<br />
<b>Raquelle:</b> NOW you tell me it was free......<br />
<br />
<b>Heather:</b> I told you then too!<br />
<br />
<b>Raquelle:</b> *crunches dry cereal loudly* Whazzat? Can’t hear ya! *crunch crinch grackle smack*<br />
<br />
<b>Heather:</b> We each decided to have an omelette and Jeannie chatted with the chef making the omelettes. (Yes, she guessed his nationality again – India. And she knew where his town was too because she’s been to India.) I also enjoyed fruit, cooked tomatoes and grilled mushrooms. I’ve discovered that I really LOVE grilled mushrooms for breakfast.<br />
<br />
And of course, we each had tea. It was a pleasant little repast and we had fun chatting for a while too. But alas, duty called (as well as unpacked suitcases) so we finished up and headed upstairs to grab our bags.<br />
<br />
<b>Raquelle:</b> We checked out of the hotel and the nice bellman who had helped us the day before assisted us into a taxi. Destination: The train station, to take the train to Manchester, where we would meet up with the tour group that evening. We thanked the bellman and gave him a tiny packet of gen-yoo-wine American tea, made by America’s only tea plantation in Charleston, SC. We were amused by the universal reaction when we dispensed these tea packets—a surprised thank-you, followed by a reverent inspection of the tea. The English take their tea very seriously. :D<br />
<br />
I observed that the traffic smells of London do not smell faintly of diesel like the traffic scents in the U.S. Instead, to my amusement, London traffic smells faintly of hot brakes. :D<br />
<br />
The taxi took us to Euston Station, which brought back fond memories of our first trip to Europe. It was in this station on that first trip that we learned that the American definition of “fast” food and the English definition of “fast” food are not the same. On that trip, twelve of us tried to get burgers and fries from McDonald’s at the station before catching our train. The unhurried clerk ambled about in a leisurely fashion that would have earned him nasty words in New York City, an exasperated “What’s he DOING, bless his heart!” in South Carolina, and the rapid termination of his employment in Southern California. I have a very vivid memory of Dad resignedly telling everyone to go catch the train and he and Mom would try to follow with the food, and of them boarding the train at the last minute looking disheveled and harassed, but triumphantly loaded with a gazillion hamburgers. It was probably our fault for trying to eat on the train anyway. Silly Americans. :D <br />
<br />
Upon arrival that morning, we scanned the departure monitors with unaccustomed eyes, trying to determine which platform the train would leave on. Finally we discovered that they don’t list the platform until fifteen minutes beforehand. If you arrive early (as we did—we always PLAN in buffer time as part of the PLAN), you can simply walk laps around the train station, clandestinely gossip about the fashions of the passerby, gorge on pastries, or post an inane out-of-focus “Diz is me at the train stashun” photo and status on Facebook. That is, assuming your cheapo Vodafone takes pictures and connects to Teh Interwebz, which ours didn’t. Rats.<br />
<br />
Deprived of inane status-making, we made our way to the waiting room to kill time. After depositing our luggage in one corner, we went in relays to the ladies’ room. Last time we were in England it cost twenty pence to visit the restroom in a train station. This time it was thirty pence. Bah. These are terrible times. In another fifty years I can wag my silver curls and croak in sepulcheral tones, “When AH wuz a child, you could go to the restroom for just tuh-WENTY pence but NAOW dayz.....”<br />
<br />
<b>Heather:</b> All right, all right. This is NOT a genteel topic of conversation.<br />
<br />
Howsomever. While we’re on the topic… Mom and I had an adventure trying to use the facilities. To enter the restroom, one must first pass through an external row of turnstiles. One drops thirty pence into a slot, then the turnstile turns. Or at least, it’s supposed to. So we dutifully brought our thirty pence, but didn’t realize that the machines ONLY accepted 10p and 20p coins. I forget what we put in it, but it was the Wrong Combination of Coins. The machine obligingly gulped our money but wouldn’t let us in. Great.<br />
<br />
There was a cranky young attendant at the turnstile entrance who was snapping people’s heads off. He had supervisory power to let people in through a little gate instead of through the turnstile. He had a weird accent – maybe Norwegian or something? <br />
<br />
Mom went over to him and observed that she put her money in but the turnstile wouldn’t work. <br />
<br />
“Twenniestensonly,” he snapped. We looked blank. He repeated himself louder. “TWENNIESTENSONLY!”<br />
<br />
“Well...I don’t have the right combination of coins...can I just hand you the money?” Mom asked.<br />
<br />
“NO!” he snarled belligerently. Then he turned his back on us and walked off.<br />
<br />
Since we’d paid our money (and did not have the right change in our pockets and it was a five minute walk back to our purses) we concluded that it wouldn’t be cheating to clandestinely scoot UNDER the turnstiles. So, um, we did. Don’t tell the cranky Norwegian though. :D<br />
<b><br />
Raquelle: </b>While they were having adventures, I was twiddling my thumbs in the waiting room. Suddenly a LOUD announcement came over the PA system: “WILL INSPECTOR SANS PLEASE REPORT TO THE STATION INSPECTION ROOM.” To drive home the point, the announcement was repeated. “WILL INSPECTOR SANS PLEASE REPORT TO THE STATION INSPECTION ROOM.” I resisted the temptation to cover my ears as the strident voice demanded a third time, “WILL INSPECTOR SANS PLEASE REPORT TO THE STATION INSPECTION ROOM.” The announcer was just warming up. Clearly, either the Plot of the Century was afoot or Inspector Sans was a slowpoke because the paging continued. I started counting how often they said it.<br />
<br />
Sixteen times.<br />
<br />
Just thought you’d like to know.<br />
<br />
Finally it was time to board the train. We don’t DO trains over here and are woefully deficient in the secret lore of trains. Exactly which car does one get on? In some trains, it’s any car you feel like. In other trains, you have assigned seats in an assigned car. In other trains, you ain’t seen the sunshine since you don’t know wheeeeeeen, and yore stuck in Folsom Prison.............” <br />
<br />
Er, sorry.<br />
<br />
Regardless, being ill-versed in the art of reading our train tickets—and in the art of realizing tickets actually have useful information on them—we attempted to board the wrong car. A helpful English lady directed us to where we SHOULD go—Car A. <br />
<br />
Guess where Car A was? <br />
<br />
In Banff-ff-ff!<br />
<br />
Well, it felt like that far. It was at the very (very) VERY veryveryveryveryveryvery end of the platform. “Helloooo-ooo-oooo!” we could shout to the car and the echo would come back five minutes later. (Minus the “ech,” which is lost in the currency exchange.) <br />
<br />
Since we had wasted time trying to decide which car to board, we now felt pressured for time. This is the other mystery about trains. If you are galloping down the platform, or if you are half on and some of your luggage is still on the platform, does the engineer (does the train HAVE an engineer) have a rear-view mirror? Will he wait for you to finish loading? Or does he just smash down on the accelerator (do trains have an accelerator?) and leave your Very Best Suitcase with your Very Best Jane Austen Bonnet stranded FOREVER on the platform? <br />
<br />
Such suspense is terrible. The stuff of nightmares. And daymares.<br />
<br />
:cue dramatic music:<br />
<br />
We legged it with all speed to Car A. Out-of-breath and arms aching (at least, I was....Jeannie is training for a marathon and didn’t appear to be disturbed), we wildly squeezed ourselves into Car A, with the help of a nice English guy who took pity on our haplessness and lifted some of the heavy suitcases.<br />
<br />
The front luggage rack of Car A was ill-equipped to handle all four of our big suitcases. Nor was the aisle wide enough to actually roll the suitcases to the back luggage rack. We provided ringside entertainment for the other passengers for the next five minutes while we grunted and squeezed and pushed several of the suitcases sideways down the narrow aisle to the back compartment. By the time they were settled and the small bags were settled and we had tripped over each other six times and found our assigned seats and made general spectacles of ourselves, we all looked at each other and said, “WILL INSPECTOR SANS PLEASE RPORT TO THE STATION INSPECTION ROOM!” I mean, no, we said, “WHO’S IDEA WAS THIS TRIP ANYWAY?” :D<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiretJ6lQgkhmyqi0CwF6oHnRreXJiS_nFRfYdHkyXzRWGZ2-PNd67a69rTD1QW-WcrJ_BPFfggS20pnj-Cq7wK8Xibfmdcz6IP0gKmUvmkIyvP-fje7dN15tklAULmee3RxNjzdHCRZCP3/s1600/IMG_5190.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiretJ6lQgkhmyqi0CwF6oHnRreXJiS_nFRfYdHkyXzRWGZ2-PNd67a69rTD1QW-WcrJ_BPFfggS20pnj-Cq7wK8Xibfmdcz6IP0gKmUvmkIyvP-fje7dN15tklAULmee3RxNjzdHCRZCP3/s320/IMG_5190.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We're finally on the train!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Mom and I ended up across from a very fun English couple whom we ended up chatting with the entire three-hour journey. I don’t remember their names, so I’ll nickname them Tom and Jane. It was quite fun chatting, although technically I guess we should have kept it down, because a sign in the car admonished us sternly that it was the “QUIET ZONE.” No loud talking, no cell phones! Tom was unfazed and had no problem with talking on his cell phone. :D<br />
<br />
Tom was the more gregarious of the two, although Jane was quite friendly too. We talked about everything under the sun, beginning with their complaint that the train company had assigned them to seats that faced BACKWARDS even though they had expressly reserved seats that faced FORWARDS. Grumbling about inept travel bureaucracies is a soothing pastime and we had a few stories of our own to contribute. For instance, there was that time when Dad was flying to California and the airline accidentally sent his suitcase to Rome. True story. (And if you’re Dixie-centric and think I mean Rome, Georgia, I don’t. I mean Rome, ITALY.) <br />
<br />
Tom warned us that he was old and grumpy and therefore came with an advisory. :D Together we began solving all the world’s problems. We got off discussing bio-fuels somehow or other. Tom expressed profound disappointment in the American drought, which is adversely affecting the corn crop. “I had truly hoped that the corn crop would be very good and get America shifted over to bio-fuels. This drought is very, very upsetting,” he lamented. <br />
<br />
We agreed that the drought is distressing, but explained that bio-fuels are still very much in the minority in the States and unpopular with many people. One good corn crop isn’t going to do the trick. He seemed surprised to hear this. He is pro bio-fuel less for environmental reasons than because, as he put it, he’d love to America stop buying oil from countries that don’t like us. I agree with THAT. We told him that America has a TON of its own oil, if we were only allowed to drill for it. This was apparently news to him. <br />
<br />
We touched on America’s economy and lamented the way it keeps getting worse. Since this is contrary to the typical U.S. media prattle, he was rather surprised at this also. Tom was quite interested to know how the average American young person sized up the political state of America. I told him my views, although I explained that my opinions don’t reflect the average American young person. :D <br />
<br />
Tom and Jane were both surprised at the lack of U.S. coverage about the Para-Olympics. Come to think of it, I am too. I told them, though, that we don’t watch television anyway. They nodded approvingly. Not much good stuff on the “telly,” they said.<br />
<br />
Tom and Jane were on their way to a wedding. Recently, another family member of theirs had married a guy from Texas and they were chortling over the Texas theme to the wedding. They were particularly amused at how the wedding party wore cowboy boots (only they called them “Texas boots”). :D <br />
<br />
We had fun discussing difference between American and English words. “How does the saying go?” Tom mused. “Something like, ‘America and England are two countries separated by a common language?’” Hear, hear! <br />
<br />
“So you’re a piano teacher, eh?” Tom asked me. He meditated on his boyish past. “Ah yes. I ‘did’ piano once,” he smirked.<br />
<br />
As the train neared Manchester, we gave them each a packet of Charleston tea. Tom feigned suspicion. “American tea, eh? We don’t know about your tea. You people make tea out of all sorts of weird things. Just any old BOILED PLANTS!” He shuddered. <br />
<br />
I also gave them a couple of Answers In Genesis pamphlets, which, of course, are Christian-based. Tom accepted them graciously and gave me a funny smile. “We’re Jews,” he said. “But I’ll read it, I’ll read it. What are you? Are you Jehovah’s Witnesses?”<br />
<br />
“No, we’re Christians,” I said.<br />
<br />
“Ah! Mormons?” he asked.<br />
<br />
“No......” We searched across the American/English barrier for the right word. “We’re Baptists.”<br />
<br />
Blank look. “Protestants.”<br />
<br />
“Ah, Protestants! Okay!” <br />
<br />
At last we reached the Manchester train station. Tom and Jane heartily wished us well on our trip and we wished them well at the wedding. <br />
<br />
We trundled into the train station to reconnoiter. The theory was simple: Grab a quick to-go lunch (the English call it “take away”) and board the tram to the hotel. The lunch part wasn’t too bad. But the tram was a whole ‘nother story. <br />
<br />
First, we had to figure out WHICH tram to take, by dint of reading an incomprehensible tram map. We couldn’t make heads or tails of it. Finally in despair we hailed someone who Looked Official. He was a tram driver himself. “Ah yes, yes, you just hop on any tram that says “Piccadilly or Altrincham,” he said politely. His accent was so thick I had to ask him to repeat this a few times. (Our English friends warn us about Manchester accents.) We still looked puzzled and he said genially, “Tell you what. Just wait for MY tram and I’ll help you. I can get you where you need to go. Just cross ‘round to the other side.” I looked at him blankly, trying to understand his thick accent.<br />
<br />
“I’m sorry....what?” I asked apologetically again.<br />
<br />
He visibly smothered a grin and said, “WILL INSPECTOR SANS PLEASE REPORT TO THE STATION INSPECTION ROOM!” Er, uh, no, he said, “Just go ‘round to the other side and wait for my tram.” He politely refrained from adding, “You dingbats!” <br />
<br />
Right. The Other Side was where we needed to be. So we crossed to the Other Side, muttering and mumbling things about Piccadillies and Altrinchams.<br />
<br />
“You know, we could just take a taxi,” Jeannie suggested sweetly.<br />
<br />
Heather was inflexible and too busy working out the square root of Piccadilly and the cosine of Altrincham to heed this sage bit of wisdom. Taking the tram was part of her carefully prepared PLAN. WE NEVER MESS WITH THE PLAN. <br />
<br />
Our troubles were not over, however. Before we could get on the tram, we had to buy tram tickets from the little ticket machine. Or at least, we thought we did. I think some of what I didn’t understand the tram driver saying might have been him offering to take us for free, since our hotel was only two short stops down the line and the tram lines seem very casual about whether you pay or not. They never bother to inspect your ticket. Tickets, schmickets.<br />
<br />
However, we were being Dutiful Citizens and we approach the ticket machine with Stern Determination. You can buy tickets from the machine in two ways: with coins or with your credit card. A quick glance through our loose change apprised us that we did not have enough coins of the proper denomination to buy tickets. (We knew better than to attempt something beyond twenniestensonly!) We looked at each other in Grave Exasperation and Mom fished out a credit card. HOWEVER, in England, credit cards are equipped with some nifty little chip that our American cards did not have. This meant that the card reader wouldn’t read Mom’s card either. <br />
<br />
“LET’S JUST TAKE A TAXI!” Heather snorted. <br />
<br />
Fine.<br />
<br />
We took a taxi. And to Jeannie’s credit, she did NOT say “I told you so,” although I’m sure she was thinking it.<br />
<br />
The poor helpful tram driver is probably still wondering what became of us. <br />
<br />
Our destination, the Midland Hotel, was not far away and the taxi deposited us at the door. A wedding was going to take place that evening and the hotel was buzzing with wedding staff. Someone was preparing a red carpet to roll out on the outside stairs. <br />
<br />
“Oh look, they’re rolling out a red carpet for us!” we snickered to each other. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCs80VRGG2t_VB7DbK_M74m4O0JPgJoihC_Lg4n450H-ACY_0egfZA5oRqINztv15AJQFScdOpXe2rOg3T8pbOS2juOZmIFlV6sXUWBL3mvWzYrtsIkvK5MvBOmDZgx-LWIMfyZ-3B5dH3/s1600/England+2012+132.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCs80VRGG2t_VB7DbK_M74m4O0JPgJoihC_Lg4n450H-ACY_0egfZA5oRqINztv15AJQFScdOpXe2rOg3T8pbOS2juOZmIFlV6sXUWBL3mvWzYrtsIkvK5MvBOmDZgx-LWIMfyZ-3B5dH3/s320/England+2012+132.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Because, of course, it's all about US!<br />
<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKnoONGRR5L8ylUPdFXJEOZwy414s9DKx8SG4iGNwjP0peRB0C5KEkdeAtzFVG0SzxvaWy505ihijktYFKv4V8tnMfps778EHO4HsHzj5b5dE7OnSUNCsrgxbdH-us7vjt3fszRVg_5y48/s1600/IMG_5193.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKnoONGRR5L8ylUPdFXJEOZwy414s9DKx8SG4iGNwjP0peRB0C5KEkdeAtzFVG0SzxvaWy505ihijktYFKv4V8tnMfps778EHO4HsHzj5b5dE7OnSUNCsrgxbdH-us7vjt3fszRVg_5y48/s320/IMG_5193.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The chandelier of the Octagon Room</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The Midland Hotel is a lovely place. The lobby has a raised area off to the left side with cozy couches and chairs and coffee tables. Part of it is a charming restaurant area known as the “Octagon Lounge.” (The guest booklet in our rooms informed us that having tea at the Octagon Lounge was on some mucky-muck’s list of the top 50 things to do before you die.) The Octagon Room has a ginormous chandelier that was Perfectly Gorgeous. We couldn’t get into our rooms yet, so we handed our bags to the concierge and seated ourselves on the outskirts of the Octagon Lounge to relax. People began to arrive for the wedding and whom should we see on the scene shortly? Tom and Jane! The wedding they were attending was the one at this hotel! We exchanged genial howdys! (We patted ourselves on the back that despite our inept wrangling with trams and taxis, we STILL beat them to the hotel, haw haw!)<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIL2AmNLQyHbrH_h0Y67wCzG4j1XVThl7XGwQ_v3TCb1KW7ZsQdA9yGjS-mfs1GvmhETqVfrmRnsyC-Bj8VHgf3TMiLWthB_9mRV1ySll6tF5CGRMjxcF0yzNR3WtZwuY7q5RJ_MF0yCov/s1600/IMG_5191.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIL2AmNLQyHbrH_h0Y67wCzG4j1XVThl7XGwQ_v3TCb1KW7ZsQdA9yGjS-mfs1GvmhETqVfrmRnsyC-Bj8VHgf3TMiLWthB_9mRV1ySll6tF5CGRMjxcF0yzNR3WtZwuY7q5RJ_MF0yCov/s320/IMG_5191.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Enjoying our tea!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We ladies ordered hot tea to drink and a few sweet munchies and proceeded to have a lovely time for the next two hours, drinking tea and watching gorgeously-arrayed guests arrive for the wedding. It was a ringside seat to a fabulous fashion show. The wedding was a black tie affair and everyone was dressed to the nines. We enjoyed the parade of astonishing fur coats, sequined dresses, and flamboyant ladies’ hats. We saw two adorable tiny twin boys dressed in charming suits and wearing tiny yarmulkes. (Ushers stood by with a stack of yarmulkes to hand out to male guests who wished for one.) The groom’s immaculate dress was completed with an old-fashioned top hat and a walking stick. <br />
<br />
<b>Heather:</b> I was dying to take pictures of all the gorgeously arrayed ladies (silk, satins, and spangles, anyone?) but thought it would be a little too Ugly-American-ish. However, I did manage to get one or two pictures by holding the camera discreetly down in my lap and turning the flash off. Such as this one, a lovely be-sequined silk gown:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVEJV6BVgk21BnSwSH5FljlXrH_bYrlXHygFp0r_SNmpZWDUdHGPTGmHZeEohxEsHDmel-S8lfHn49sO1454x3DjVgmvGB2pinmzGzL-1sV6S6cBiU4D3SdaDu1sLfKi3VQhmqHeOnZxP9/s1600/England+2012+105.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVEJV6BVgk21BnSwSH5FljlXrH_bYrlXHygFp0r_SNmpZWDUdHGPTGmHZeEohxEsHDmel-S8lfHn49sO1454x3DjVgmvGB2pinmzGzL-1sV6S6cBiU4D3SdaDu1sLfKi3VQhmqHeOnZxP9/s320/England+2012+105.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
Jeannie enjoyed herself as well as we did (she helps plan weddings all the time) and flattered some of the more stunningly dressed ladies who passed by our couch by openly admiring their outfits. “You look gorgeous ma’am, I hope you don’t mind me saying that!” They never did mind and seemed a pleasantly surprised that anyone noticed them.<br />
<br />
It was so fun to watch that we prolonged our tea until 4:00 when the bride came through. She was very pretty, but after all the be-furred and be-sequinned wedding guests, she was a bit of an anti-climax. Her dress was just a simple white sparkly gown with a small flowing train. She was charming, however. Since she passed within about six feet of us we paid our compliments and told her we’d been waiting just to see her go by! She grinned nervously.<br />
<br />
In the midst of all this, we spotted Jennie, the tour leader, checking in at the desk. We hurried over the say and hi and exchange quick hugs. We hadn’t seen each other in person since 2001 or 2002, I think, though our families have known each other for many years. If I remember correctly, our families first met in 1993 at a conference in Virginia. Jennie now lives in Kenya and of course, we live in South Carolina, so that’s a little too far for a quick get-together. LOL<br />
<br />
Once the wedding began, we decided to go into town for a little while, as there was nothing else scheduled until after dinner that night. We, in our ignorance, decided to see if Manchester had any antique stores. Now if we had only known it, Manchester is proud of its MODERN improvements, and antiques are pretty much ignored or stuffed in museums, at least in the downtown area. But we didn’t know this.<br />
<br />
<b>Raquelle: </b>So we asked the concierge to direct us to antique stores. In our minds, we meant the quintessential American antique store....a nice rambly building, smelling faintly of Grandma’s attic or basement, stuffed with things Americans consider “old,” (which is not the same as what Europeans consider “old.”) At the very least, however, we expect to see mismatched settings of preposterously boring glassware, a few old LPs of long-forgotten artists, outrageous blingy costume jewelry from the 1960s, a ubiquitous stack of doilies and tea towels and hankies, a few faded Christmas ornaments, some weathered Nancy Drew books, and a perhaps a prim and pedigreed old butter churn. (I defy any of you to produce an antique store in America that does not supply at least 6 out of 7 of those items.)<br />
<br />
However, the concierge was from India. I don’t think he’d ever been to an American antique store. Consequently, he had no idea what we were talking about. He presumably had never read Nancy Drew or fished through stacks of old tea towels. He appeared puzzled by our request.<br />
<br />
“Antiques…you know…a place where they would sell old things,” we explained. <br />
<br />
He pondered. “Ahh….hmmm….ah….yess…..lets me directs you….ah….over to zees place,” he suggested. He fished out a street map for us and made Conspicuous Notations on it. “And eef zat doezn’t work, summon Inspektor Sanz to ze Station Inspektion room,” he concluded. Or something.<br />
<br />
<b>Heather:</b> It turned out to be a not-so-helpful street map because Manchester is so busy improving itself all the time that they quit making detailed street maps because things change all the time. At least, as much as a British hundreds-of-years-old town can change. Piffle, who needs MAPS? We quickly took off in the wrong direction and walked briskly for about half a mile before discovering our error. Then we turned around and walked even more briskly in the RIGHT direction to make up for lost time.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUjah_SmrnLUEG55hcAdEVlqx16s-7Zf8gTBKAEizOvXiOjH9Xmdwfbpg4vGEBDosinY4m0QdEq9A2k-_4ZOlj3pRZwGD2ofkYZ-cmtINXSFrjzxA9XJt6_sS2fkL0EDa8UdgRNe_2zten/s1600/IMG_5195.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUjah_SmrnLUEG55hcAdEVlqx16s-7Zf8gTBKAEizOvXiOjH9Xmdwfbpg4vGEBDosinY4m0QdEq9A2k-_4ZOlj3pRZwGD2ofkYZ-cmtINXSFrjzxA9XJt6_sS2fkL0EDa8UdgRNe_2zten/s320/IMG_5195.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The exterior of the Midland Hotel</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b>Raquelle:</b> Mom kept saying, “Are you SURE we’re going the right way? This just keeps getting more industrial. It doesn’t look like a shopping district.” Of course we were sure! It was the right street name, wasn’t it! Finally, a closer look at the map apprised us that there is UPPER Squawkenbop Street (or whatever it was) and LOWER Squawkenbop street. We, presumably being elitist upper-crust individuals, blindly wandered to the UPPER one when we should have gone to the LOWER one. Snobs, we're snobs.<br />
<br />
<b>Heather:</b> So eventually, with many a doubtful look at our doubtful map, we finally found the “antique store” he had directed us too. Turns out it was in the “Boho District” and was not at all what we had in mind. I don’t know if it was the steam punk posters on the building or the mobile tattoo parlor that tipped us off first, but it bore no resemblance to the typical American antique store. <br />
<br />
<b>Raquelle</b>: Heather is not doing this place justice. It was something of a shopping mall and its name is “Afflecks.”<br />
<br />
Doesn’t that make you think of the Aflac duck? *quacks* <b><span style="font-size: x-large;">AFLAC! AFLAC!</span></b><br />
<br />
Anyway, the website for Affleck’s assures us that it is, “<i>An emporium of eclecticism, a totem of indie commerce in Manchester’s Northern Quarter and above all else a fantastic place to SHOP for anything from Top hats to tattoos…Within Afflecks’ walls we have many alternative shops and stalls. Some might say eclectic or even quirky. And some would just say nothing because they were so dumbfounded by the incredible variety of wares.</i>” <br />
<br />
*quacks* <b><span style="font-size: x-large;">AFLAC! AFLAC!</span></b><br />
<br />
For instance, Afflecks boasts the Frankie Knuckles store. Consider this description, verbatim from the website. Don’t ask me what half of this means: “<i>Frankie Knuckles is a new outlet for American consumables. We try to stock the best that is coming stateside that would appeal to British urban youth. Our main products include ranges from Neon Green whom are making the sickest fixie bikes across the water...Fydelity Bags, a company that started in sound and developed sachels & skate bags with inbuilt speakers, to bring your favourite sounds to the street or bowl and the legendary KNUCKLECASE for the iPhone. This is an aluminum knuckle duster...and without saying too much we have just supplied to a big London name.</i>”<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>AFLAC! AFLAC!</b></span><br />
<br />
No, definitely not the place for four prissy ladies who want to poke about some shelves of old china and Grandma's handkerchiefs. <br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">AFLAC! AFLAC! </span></b><br />
<br />
In the concierge’s defense, one of the stores in Afflecks does carry used costume clothing, so perhaps he felt that would fit our criteria.<br />
<br />
<b>Heather:</b> Regardless, the place was closed so we turned around again. This time we found Market Street and decided to wander along it and maybe get some supper. That is, everyone else was in the mood to wander. By that time, I had had a long day and my gluten free luncheon was a mere memory. I was HUNGRY. <br />
<br />
<b>Raquelle:</b> A Hungry Heather is a fearsome object. When Heather is hungry, I try to go hide in Banff-ff-ff or a classified undisclosed location, preferably underground.<br />
<br />
<b>Heather: </b>For those who don’t know me, I have blood sugar issues, which means that when I get HUNGRY (as opposed to merely “hungry”) my blood sugar has bottomed out and I need food immejate or dire things happen. I get cranky. Then I get mouthy. Then I get foggy-brained. Altogether, I become a less-than-desirable traveling companion. Jeannie knew this vaguely about me because we’ve been reenacting together for years. But she had not ever seen me truly “bottomed out.” So among the other curiosities of our England Tour, she got to observe a Hungry Heather. I probably needed an explanatory plaque and maybe a small guide book with instructions.<br />
<br />
At any rate, after a minor explosion from the famed Hungry Heather we decided to postpone further wandering. We headed for a nearby second-story food court that had several chain restaurants and ordered chicken at KFC. After that, everyone was much more cheerful and we went back to wandering with happier faces. :grin:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5OCD-jlOqyW4NMBjbWcqntI9aTZmSh3EnD07iQml6fJu8onyf5Qi_WNzG6692Sdi7wUAM-HMEGRjDUU1apF7ixoDHxF_kd2Vo7phwlHIKioVRunMUS45EOmbrcWJ2s3tJwvph6sf8aq34/s1600/KFC.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5OCD-jlOqyW4NMBjbWcqntI9aTZmSh3EnD07iQml6fJu8onyf5Qi_WNzG6692Sdi7wUAM-HMEGRjDUU1apF7ixoDHxF_kd2Vo7phwlHIKioVRunMUS45EOmbrcWJ2s3tJwvph6sf8aq34/s320/KFC.jpg" width="320" /></a><b>Raquelle:</b> In the U.S. if you order a piece of white meat chicken and fries, you get a hefty piece of meat and the fries come in their own container. So when the cashier at KFC handed me a tiny folded cardboard box, I thought she’d forgotten the fries. “And the fries?” I inquired politely.<br />
<br />
“They are in the box,” the cashier assured me.<br />
<br />
I must have still looked dubious as I processed this new cultural experience, because she sort of smirked and said with a hint of impatience, “Would you like to open it up and see?”<br />
<br />
She was right of course. The fries were in the bottom and on top reposed a piece of meat about half the size of the typical American KFC white meat chunk. We concluded upon eating it that it’s the same amount of actual meat however, as it was boneless. <br />
<br />
There was a McDonald’s in the food court as well, but I was crestfallen to discover that they did not serve the usual mocha frappes. So I opted for a cappuccino at KFC instead. It was bitter and I had to stuff it quite full of sugar. However, in fairness, fast food coffee in the U.S. isn’t particularly worth writing home about either. :D<br />
<br />
While we were munching our chicken, a Great Big Gaggle of Very Serious Firemen appeared on the scene, in full gear. Including an ax. They began Very Seriously poking and prodding the elevator to the food court, which was presumably a juvenile delinquent in need of a reprimand. <br />
<br />
“I TOLD you to spend more time on your homework,” lectured one fireman, jiggling a wire.<br />
<br />
“No more late nights for YOU,” scolded another, flipping a switch.<br />
<br />
“If I catch you putting a mouse in your teacher’s desk again, you’re grounded for LIFE,” admonished a third, yanking on a pulley. <br />
<br />
To which the elevator responded by sticking out its tongue and saying, <b><span style="font-size: x-large;">“AFLAC!”</span></b><br />
<br />
However, at the end of their ministrations the elevator was a model citizen once more and was no longer STUCK, which is apparently why they were summoned in the first place. <br />
<b><br />
Heather:</b> Do note that these conversations were speculative, inasmuch as we were too far away to hear them. But we’re pretty sure that’s what was going on.<br />
<br />
<b>Raquelle:</b> After eating, we browsed a couple of department stores. One of them was T.K. Maxx. Yes, you read that right, it’s a “K” not a “J.” It was a step above our T.J. Maxx stores over here and we had fun ambling about. Jeannie found a chawming little dress that she decided would be Just Right for an upcoming wedding she would be attending. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqVO4QYl2VYlYxZaH9DGZrgAweFyhvoQ5IYCFpv0kD8Wsz1jBg2LDgWdhXxrBm8y1qCIMvCQkAzq3avEMTgF6C0eZKtktYloFeEIixvop-d1-bjhO-VZpDR_-7HD0XNwFqZtJN0bc8DkLw/s1600/England+2012+118.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqVO4QYl2VYlYxZaH9DGZrgAweFyhvoQ5IYCFpv0kD8Wsz1jBg2LDgWdhXxrBm8y1qCIMvCQkAzq3avEMTgF6C0eZKtktYloFeEIixvop-d1-bjhO-VZpDR_-7HD0XNwFqZtJN0bc8DkLw/s320/England+2012+118.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Us outside of T. K. Maxx</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
We enjoyed browsing the shoe department and clowning around with all the Ghastly Ugly Stylish Shoes.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipEPlZH6RH_F1x1my6dtNaNBpLdAv2i4CBXNtUQEENV3Qh9PujKAhl1Fu_oG3N7gy3zrJhqQrd64swQ8OUgOhJI9PeWDFmEk8-91cIeDG68-xhEU99U6WW8bUjI9Q2wYquXoe3KyfLiZ6f/s1600/England+2012+120.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipEPlZH6RH_F1x1my6dtNaNBpLdAv2i4CBXNtUQEENV3Qh9PujKAhl1Fu_oG3N7gy3zrJhqQrd64swQ8OUgOhJI9PeWDFmEk8-91cIeDG68-xhEU99U6WW8bUjI9Q2wYquXoe3KyfLiZ6f/s320/England+2012+120.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This one's fer Grandma R.......doncha think it's trewly fashunable?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Finally we headed back to the hotel and checked in. Heather and Mom’s room was Rather Interesting. <br />
<br />
<b>Heather:</b> It was obviously carved out of a once-bigger room. It was on a corner so we had two windows with magnificent views of the city, but we also had A Pillar in the middle of the room. It was a Large Pillar. It probably required its own personal identification documentation when traveling, and it certainly would have needed its own airline seat. Maybe two seats. We spent the next two days dodging our Pillar whenever we walked across the room. <br />
<br />
Otherwise, the room was pretty tame. Except for an interesting feature regarding room keys which will be covered with great hilarity (on the part of the non-victims) in the NEXT blog entry. (This is called "strategic foreshadowing" and it makes sure that our bored readers come back for more.)<br />
<br />
<b>Raquelle:</b> Jeannie and I had a large spacious room with a small side lobby. It was very nice, although the lobby area was very dimly lit. The room only lacked an iron and ironing board, so I called the front desk to request one.<br />
<br />
“Did you check the wardrobe?” the clerk inquired politely.<br />
<br />
Wardrobe? What wardrobe? Oh THAT wardrobe. It was tucked away in a dark corner of dimly lit lobby and I hadn’t even SEEN it. Oh well, when you have an American accent, people expect you to act like an oblivious tourist. <br />
<br />
After freshening up, we went down to the lobby to officially meet up with the tour group. Mom and I took the elevator. Jeannie and Heather took the stairs (I don’t know why) and promptly got lost in the hotel and arrived ten minutes late. <br />
<br />
<b>Heather: </b>What is this “lost” stuff? We weren’t LOST. We knew exactly where we weren’t.<br />
<br />
See, we took the stairs down to the mezzanine level. But then they stopped. So we went out the door and looked for another set of stairs. Which we found. But it went somewhere else. And then we found some stained glass windows and then we found an alcove with humongous red drapes and pretty soon I started expecting a Gothic villain to pop out and then we found some stairs DOWN and some stairs UP that weren’t right so we finally found the elevators again and meekly got on board for level G (for ground) which was where we were supposed to be in the first place. :looks sheepish:<br />
<br />
But it was an ADVENTURE.<br />
<br />
<b>Raquelle:</b> There were about twenty of us in the tour group, counting Jennie and her co-tour guide, Suzi Clarke. Suzi was determinedly going from person to person, impressing our names upon her brain. I was impressed. I can’t remember names for more than ten seconds. <br />
<br />
When we were all assembled, we went upstairs to Suzi’s suite for a time of fellowship and “Show-and-Tell.” And since that part officially begins the official tour and this blog entry has gone on Way Too Long, we’ll stop there for tonight. <br />
<br />
Stay tuned for more......and meanwhile, would you PUH-LEASE ask Inspector Sans to report to the Station Inspection Room IMMEJATE?Heather Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03350882971891496288noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3244533696111728633.post-78567985070665598442012-09-20T17:31:00.000-07:002012-09-20T17:31:22.573-07:00Jane Austen England Tour - Day 1<b>Sense and Sensibility Tour: Day 1 and 2</b><br />
<br />
<i>This is really long. Go get a cup of coffee and read it anyway. It’ll bless you, we’re sure. *cheesy grin*</i><br />
<br />
<b>Prologue:</b> This tour of England was sponsored by Sense and Sensibility Patterns and led by Jennie Chancey and Suzi Clarke. Over the course of the tour, Holly, Heather and Raquelle and about fifteen other ladies explored various parts of England that housed historic clothing collections or were locations of interest to Jane Austen fans and historic textile enthusiasts. <br />
<br />
<b>Raquelle:</b> It all began when Jennie Chancey (who, by the way is an old friend of ours we’ve known for umpteen years) sent an e-mail to her mailing list announcing the tour. I read the e-mail that evening and thought, “Gee, that’d be fun!” and mentioned it to Mom and Heather, with no particular thought of us actually GOING on the tour. We talk about pipe dreams all the time and usually talk ourselves out of them. Time and money are limited resources, you know? Per usual, we talked ourselves out of this one too. I went to bed and likely peacefully dreamed my usual recurring anxiety dreams of A) chasing escaping cats or B) double-booking two piano students.<br />
<br />
However, the next morning Mom said, “So..........I was thinking........let’s go on the trip after all!” <br />
<br />
Long story short, we decided to go. <br />
<br />
Without Dad.<br />
<br />
Dad thought the trip sounded Epic Boring and offered the opinion that if he went, he’d wind up just tagging along behind us hauling our suitcases. (This is undeniably true. :D) We magnanimously excused him from going, after nibbling our nails in fretful anxiety. We are not particularly adventurous when it comes to traveling abroad without World Traveler Daddy. However, we reasoned, in England they speak English. How bad could it be? The worst that might happen to us is that we, say, get on the wrong train and wind up in Banff or something.<br />
<br />
<b>Heather:</b> Banff is in CANADA, you nincompoop.<br />
<br />
<b>Raquelle:</b> *cough* At any rate, next we called up our good friend Jeannie Rucker. (Now, before we go any further, get this straight in your mind. JENNIE is the trip coordinator. JEANNIE is our traveling buddy.) We wanted Jeannie to come with us ‘cause she’s jolly fun. Jeannie is a fellow Civil War reenactor and historical fashion enthusiast. And she knows tons and tons of stuff about fashion history. AND she used to be a flight attendant. We decided the latter qualification might prevent us from accidentally ending up in Banff. (I love to pronounce it Ban-fffuh-fffuh, like they did in that one episode of F-Troop when..........oh never mind..........)<br />
<br />
As the day of departure grew closer, we began to procrastinate on sewing our Jane Austen costumes because it’s more fun to sew with a panicked deadline, isn’t it? Actually, in fairness to myself, I was really BUSY with a college deadline and I didn’t have TIME to sew until the last ten days of August. Mom and Heather don’t have any decent excuses. Haw. The sewing list encompassed three (3) THREE Spencer jackets (short-waisted coats from the era), two (2) TWO bonnets, a new dress for Heather and, last minute, a new dress for Mom. Mom had a dress already but it was frightfully farby. Heather and I decided she needed a new one and we snuck off to Walmart and bought fabric and made the dress based off the other dress’s measurements. We s’prised her. :D<br />
<br />
I made my Spencer jacket and most of Mom and Heather’s. I had to cajole Heather into making one. She said, “I’ll just wear a shawl or something” but I know three things about Heather. <br />
<br />
1. Heather hates being cold. She melts, just like the Wicked Witch of the West.<br />
2. Heather hates flippy-floppy droopy draping things around her when she’s trying to use a camera. <br />
3. When conditions 1 or 2 are present, Heather gets GRUMPY.<br />
<br />
So let’s just say I insisted she needed a Spencer jacket out of self-defense. <br />
<br />
I’ll crow about the bonnets I made later. Consider yourself forewarned on that topic. But meanwhile, I’ll mention that we had to bring an extra little suitcase just to house bonnets. :D<br />
<br />
All sewing was finally completed the day before we left. MINE was completed at least TWO days before we left. Don’t clap, just throw money. Pounds, preferably. Savin’ up for next time....<br />
<br />
While I was sewing, Heather was organizing our travel. <br />
<br />
<b>Heather:</b> Thankfully, Jennie was in charge of getting us from Point A to Point B on the tour part of the trip. But we decided to come a day early to visit the Victoria and Albert Museum in London. So I was in charge of getting us from Point A to Point B during that part. Scareeee. However, I did feel rather smug with myself that I managed to get train tickets at a discount because at least four people make a “group.” We may have wound up in Banff-ff-ff, but at least it would be 10% off.<br />
<br />
<b>Raquelle:</b> We all packed carefully, with systematic precision and logic. There is, however, some sort of Murphy’s Law about packing. I believe I’ll call it Morgan’s Law, after my first name. Morgan’s Law states that amount of suitcase organization at the beginning of the trip is directly proportional to the disastrous chaos that ensues the moment you open your suitcase at your destination.<br />
<br />
We got some vacuum-locked plastic bags for our suitcases, which maximized space. Two of us even thought to, y’know, use the vacuum function to suck the extra air out of the bags. I am usually a mechanical idiot, but I Saved The Day when Heather tragically announced that all her stuff wouldn’t FIT. I sez, “Did you squeeze the air out of the plastic bags?” and when she gave me a blank look, I did it for her. *pats self on back*<br />
<br />
Finally, all costumes completed and all bags packed, we headed for the airport on Friday morning, September 7.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEJIVDC37h4eA8k218aEyWxS2koXqriFHRIZR1kfMNWFgJJzi9oPXoRtYftdEb7yj2PtX-W2rizfKyi_-hMIz20mSGLnd3fTMkPDDs2-cDzNA9DX8u8qXbK7_NVpbH7T3vh63LTig9y9mK/s1600/R+-+IMG_2648.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="400" width="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEJIVDC37h4eA8k218aEyWxS2koXqriFHRIZR1kfMNWFgJJzi9oPXoRtYftdEb7yj2PtX-W2rizfKyi_-hMIz20mSGLnd3fTMkPDDs2-cDzNA9DX8u8qXbK7_NVpbH7T3vh63LTig9y9mK/s400/R+-+IMG_2648.JPG" /></a></div> <i> Too many suitcases!</i><br />
<br />
<b><br />
Heather: </b>Our flight from Greenville to Newark was uneventful except that Raquelle and I forgot to take Dramamine so we were pretty queasy by the time we got off. So when everyone looked at the travel agent (me) to figure out directions to the next gate, I was a bit blithery. However, I soon recovered and we easily found a bus to take us to the next terminal. <br />
<br />
<b>Raquelle: </b>We were supposed to take a tram or something but somehow we ended up on a bus instead. The advantage to this was that the bus took us directly to the secure area and we didn’t have to go back through security again, unlike what happens when you take the tram. Suits me. One less hassle. <br />
<br />
<b>Heather:</b> And you don’t wind up in Banff-ff-ff. <br />
<br />
We had a six-hour layover in Newark. We were wondering about finding enough stuff to do for six hours. But as it turned out, we had a very pleasant time. There was a nice little food court where we indulged in sandwiches, salads, smoothies, and – for Raquelle and Mom– a Dunkin Donuts coolatta. (Of course!)<br />
<br />
<b>Raquelle:</b> Coolattas are more expensive in New Jersey than in South Carolina. Humph.<br />
<br />
During lunch we were discussing traveling and Jeannie convulsed us with the spiel she used to use as a flight attendant. It went something like, “Please remain seated with your seatbelts fastened until we reach the gate. Never in the history of airline travel has a passenger made it to the gate BEFORE the plane.” <br />
<br />
Being a very proactive individual and Highly Suspicious of gloppy airline meals, I bought a Greek salad to take onto the plane. I put it neatly in a plastic bag and Felt Smug. <br />
<br />
<b>Heather</b>: We found a nice little snug corner near our gate and plopped down. Then Jeannie and I decided to go for a brisk walk. At the end of our walk, Jeannie saw a currency exchange place and decided to go ahead and get her money changed.<br />
<br />
Now, I had checked out the current exchange rate online, so as I watched the clerk counting out Jeannie pounds, I was confused. When we got back to where Mom and Raquelle were sitting, I had her pull the receipt out to check. Yes, indeed, they had used a higher exchange rate. Instead of $1.60 equaling 1 pound, it took almost $2 to equal a pound. I grabbed my money to exchange and we went back over to figure it out. <br />
<br />
Well, the nice folks there explained that the rate of exchange is not what you will pay at currency exchange places or banks. That’s because they are in the business of selling money and have to make a profit. So I decided to only exchange part of my money and do the rest of my purchases with credit cards (which have a lower rate). Somewhere in the conversation, I mentioned that Mom and Raquelle wanted to exchange money too, and they suggested we do it all at once so as to only have one transaction fee. So Jeannie ran back to get Mom and Raquelle and watch our luggage. We FINALLY got all three of us in one pile of putty, exchanged our money and tried not to think about all the things we could have done with that extra fee money. Phooey.<br />
<br />
<b>Raquelle:</b> Suddenly I understand biblical references to money changers and get why Jesus was so put out with them! :D<br />
<br />
<b>Heather:</b> Then I laid down for a nap while the rest of them took walks and chatted with a nice couple of ladies in our corner. Mary and Christine were also flying to the UK, to Scotland. Since we have been there, we had fun talking about what they wanted to see. <br />
<br />
<b>Raquelle:</b> I amused myself by working on a tiny craft project, some 1860s-era wristlets. I had brought some bits of ribbon and velvet and whatnot to sew on during quiet hours. Turned out this was the only “quiet hour” on the whole trip and I never touched the stuff again. :D I also amused myself by people-watching. I snickered at a pilot who strode by pulling a suitcase with a sticker on it that said, “New Jersey....don’t worry, we hate you too.” <br />
<br />
<b>Heather:</b> At last it was time to board, and we managed to get ourselves seated and our luggage stowed without creaming anybody. You think that’s funny? Then you haven’t been one of our hapless victims that we creamed! Haw haw. Jeannie ended up switching seats with a couple that wanted to sit together, so she sat in front of us instead of beside us. However that was fine because then we could pester her from behind. And I also enjoyed watching her movie from behind – I hate using the headphones to watch my own movie because they hurt my ears.<br />
<br />
The couple that changed seats with Jeannie I have privately named Mr. and Mrs. Oblivious. They were an obviously nice older couple but they seemed to think the world revolved around them. When they boarded the flight (which was late) they leisurely stood in the aisle and lifted bags up and down from the overhead bin, rooted around in them, and had a little private committee meeting about what to do with their stuff. The airline attendants hinted on the broadcast system that “everyone needs to please get out of the aisle for the incoming passengers,” but it didn’t faze them. Finally, one of the attendants came up pointedly asked them to step out of the aisle.<br />
<br />
That didn’t slow them down any, however. Mr Oblivious stuck his legs out in the aisle, in spite of the attendants loudly announcing that the cart was coming. He accidently whopped people by pulling his luggage down and putting it up over and over again. Generally speaking, I found them entertaining. But of course, I wasn’t the one being whopped. <br />
<br />
Another couple on board the flight was Mr. and Mrs. Hapless. They had a toddler with them. They looked a trifle old to have a toddler so maybe it was their grandson. He was a good little boy except for about an hour at bedtime. Then he cried. And cried. I smiled and waved and him and he smiled back. And then cried. And cried. His parents/grandparents didn’t seem to know what to do with him and walked up and down the aisles with him, letting him bang the handles of the overhead bins and do whatever else his little heart desired. Finally he fell asleep, bless his heart.<br />
<br />
Sitting in front of the Hapless couple was Mr. Humorless. When I first saw Mr. Humorless, he was blissfully dozing off for the night, earphones in place and legs stretched out. Then the Hapless Toddler tuned up. First his eyes opened. Then he rolled them balefully towards the toddler. As the cries got louder, Mr. Humorless slid lower and lower in his seat. By the time the toddler was banging the overhead bins, Mr. Humorless had his shoulders up around his ears and if looks could kill, the Hapless Toddler would have been a tearful corpse. I was far enough down the aisle from the Hapless Toddler to find both him and Mr. Humorless entertaining as well.<br />
<br />
I also enjoyed the Cranky Yankee Flight Attendants. The pilot told us cheerfully that the crew was based in Newark, which explained a lot. One lady was grumpy about having to answer people’s questions. “Why do I make announcements?” she fumed to her fellow attendant. I’m not sure if she was aware of the fact that most people don’t sit with baited breath, hanging on the every word of the flight attendants’ endless announcements. Another lady was peevish when someone answered her respectfully. “Don’t call me ma’am,” she snapped. If it had been me, I would have given her a couple of second options, heh heh.<br />
<br />
Now, here’s a little tip about airline food: If you want the good stuff, order gluten free. Good ole Dad asked for gluten free meals for Raquelle and I when he bought the tickets. Turns out the gluten free people get served first. AND the food is way better. Not nearly as much of the Glop Factor involved. Just real meat, real veggies, and some tasty bread and fruit. Yum.<br />
<br />
Then they turned the lights down and everyone tried to sleep. I don’t think we succeeded. Jeannie ended up watching movies all night. Mom read her Kindle for a while. Raquelle and I kept our eyes closed but only dozed. However, at least we all got some rest.<br />
<br />
<b>Raquelle:</b> I had fun listening to a couple of new songs on my MP3 player. I knew Mom would enjoy them too, so when she began to display unmistakable signs of fed-up-edness with the long flight, I passed her my MP3 player. She enjoyed the new songs....and the other songs....and the other OTHER songs....and was having so much fun I didn’t bother asking for it back. <br />
<br />
I began to watch for the sunrise. The sky turned from black to blue-gray and finally gorgeous pink light shot over the clouds. I enjoyed this beauty for quite awhile and then had to squint when the sun suddenly popped into view, a giant hot pink orb. (I like the word “orb.” It sounds cultured or sompthing.)<br />
<br />
<b>Heather:</b> As the sun was coming up in a beautiful sunrise, we all enjoyed a “breakfast snack.” Or rather, us gluten free peoplez enjoyed it. Everyone else got stale croissants and half-frozen fruit. We got lovely little blueberry muffins and fruit salad.<br />
<br />
<b>Raquelle:</b> As we got close, we could see the Thames River and I even saw the Tower Bridge! Cool!<br />
<br />
<b>Heather:</b> And then finally – landing in London! Ahhhh, grab our bags, stretch our legs, and prepare to enjoy the city!! Er, wait… what’s this?,… customs? … oh, should be a breeze… :build to ominous music:<br />
<br />
:sigh:<br />
<br />
Because of the Olympics (almost over) customs was moving very fast. It’s just that there were TONS of people. They had signs posted in the queue: “45 minutes from here,” “30 minutes from here” and so on. Rather discouraging. We were Highly Gratified, however, when it came our turn to find that we were allowed to be interviewed in a group since we were together. It took a mere couple of minutes and THEN, on to enjoy the city!!<br />
<br />
<b>Raquelle:</b> Oh, come come now, it’s not that simple. You forgot about the Saga of the Phones. <br />
<br />
Our cell phones don’t work in the UK, of course. The simple solution was to go to the Vodafone store in the Heathrow airport and buy some little cheapo pay-as-you-go phones. Like TracFones or something. Don’t ask me, I’m not techie, I still don’t know what a SIM card is. Anyway, on our last trip to Europe there were a couple of occasions where we were EXTREMELY grateful to have had a cell phone on us and we (that is, Mom and Heather and I) were nervous about being without one. Jeannie didn’t share our sense of urgency but she humored us. Jeannie likes adventures and goes with the flow. Mom and Heather and I are control freaks and go with the PLAN. If the PLAN doesn’t work, we bog down into committee meetings making another PLAN. Which isn’t too bad....keeps you from accidentally ending up in Banff-ff-ff, for instance.<br />
<br />
Anyway, on paper it sounded easy. Arrive at terminal 3, the Vodafone store is in terminal 5. (We knew this because we’d researched it ahead of time as part of the PLAN.) In a U.S. airport, going from terminal to terminal is a minor nuisance but is simply a matter of following the bazillion helpful signs and popping onto a little dedicated tramway or bus—if that. Not so in Heathrow. Meaning no disrespect to my good English friends, but Heathrow airport is Vastly Lacking in helpful signage or transportation. I henceforth christen it Hijous (Hideous) Heathrow. <br />
<br />
First we walked some long hallways in Hijous Heathrow. Then, after milling about for awhile, we took the lift (i.e., elevator) to some other floor in Hijous Heathrow. I think we might have gone to the wrong one and had to go back up. Or down. I forget. Then, after a period of Extreme Confusion we boarded the Heathrow Express. The problem with the Heathrow Express is that it takes you to the other airport terminals, but also sometimes (randomly and secretively) takes you into twenty minutes into downtown London. And it is poorly labeled as to which direction it is going at any given time. We closed our eyes, crossed our fingers, and hopped on board, hoping to simply wind up in Terminal 5 of Hijous Heathrow instead of, say, at Buckingham Palace. (Or Banff-ff-ff.) By some miracle, we landed in Terminal 5.<br />
<br />
Should I mention that by this time we were all frazzled and exhausted? Because, y’know, we’ve been up almost 24 hours and our suitcases are too heavy? We parked ourselves at a tiny coffee kiosk and ordered stiff caffeine drinks. I decided food was what I needed most and I bipped over to a delightful little food store that featured all sorts of yummy sandwiches and salads and interesting concoctions. I bought some lemon-lime yogurt, knowing that English yogurt is a major step up from American yogurt. It was cool and refreshing and restored my energy for at least five minutes. <br />
<br />
Of course, arriving in Terminal 5 of Hijous Heathrow did not mean that the phone store was anywhere close by. So Mom and Heather went on a quest to discover the phone store. I decided to make myself a fizzy vitamin drink while I waited. I had this nifty little collapsible travel cup that I had been dying to use, so I opened it, filled it with water, and added a packet of vitamin fizzy (Emergen-C, if that means anything to you). Then I started to sip it, feeling Excessively Pleased with such a nifty travel gizmo. However, ladies and gentlemen, be forewarned that this particular gizmo is an Epic Failure. The durn cup began collapsing on itself and made a big sticky wet mess all over the table. Alas. *moment of silence*<br />
<br />
Mom and Heather were gone a long time. Jeannie is very patient. She’s a lot more patient than we are. “Are you sure these phones are worth the trouble?” she asked sweetly. I tried to think they would be.........<br />
<br />
Finally Mom and Heather came back with two phones and a Bag Full Of Junk. You know, users manuals that tell you everything but how to make a call and other typical cell phone nonsense. <br />
<br />
Just then I had a Perfectly Brilliant Idea. “There is this lovely sandwich place right across from us,” I pointed out. “If we all grab something now, we won’t have to fuss with going out to dinner tonight.”<br />
<br />
A Committee Meeting ensued. This should have been a simple decision but none of us had any brains left and it appeared to be the Momentous Choice of the Century. “I mean, I don’t need anything...I have that Greek salad I bought in Newark,” I said, feeling proud of my foresight. Er, just where WAS the salad? “Where’s my salad?” I demanded anxiously, pawing about through our stuff. Oh. Yeah. I, uh, left it under my seat on the plane. Smooth, real smooth.<br />
<br />
<b>Heather:</b> It’s prolly in Banff-ff-ff by now.<br />
<br />
<b>Raquelle</b>: Shuddup.<br />
<br />
I finally won the Committee Meeting (please note the use of the word “won”—it implies a dynamic other than mutual sharing and collaboration :D) and convinced everyone to justbuyastupidsaladorsandwich, kthxbai. Finally, armed with a few weird salads, we began to think about actually leaving the airport. We call this sort of thing “achieving escape velocity.” You know, how space stuff has to sling around the earth a few times before it can build up enough speed to break the gravitational pull of earth? Yeah, you got the picture. <br />
<br />
<b>Heather:</b> We took the Heathrow Express to Paddington Station.<br />
<br />
<b>Raquelle:</b> Guess what greeted our eyes in Paddington Station? A Vodafone store! All that durn headache in Hijous Heathrow for nothin’! *throws breakable objects*<br />
<br />
<b>Heather:</b> Then we took a taxi to the hotel. It was a hotel we’d stayed at before, so I felt a little more confident about navigating everyone there. The bellhop was exceedingly patient with we four ladies as we sorted through our luggage which, of course, would need to be checked until we could get into our rooms later in the day. Luckily, good ole Dad’s status with Marriott allowed us access to the Executive Lounge so we went up there to grab something to drink and relax for a few minutes.<br />
<br />
<b>Raquelle:</b> We all fixed a cup of tea and propped up our feet. I e-mailed Dad from the lounge computer to let him know we’d arrived safely. This was a mildly complicated process because A) I was exhausted and B) the “shift” key was in a different place. I kept typing slashes instead of capitalizing things. This is, of course, unacceptable to a Grammar Nazi no matter how tired you are, so I dutifully corrected it all. Kudos to me.<br />
<br />
<b>Heather:</b> As we sat resting, we remembered that the cameras were still in the baggage. Oops.<br />
<br />
Back downstairs to pester the nice bellhop (yes, we tipped him!) to let us dig through our luggage AGAIN to find the cameras. And then, off to explore the city! (Is this sounding familiar?)<br />
<br />
Armed with a street map from the concierge, I confidently led everyone down the street to the tube station. Er, except we sorta went the long way around… but we weren’t LOST, I knew exactly where we were! :nods confidently: Arriving in the tube station, we marched over to buy tickets. After running a quick price check, we realized that we could get a taxi for the same amount as the tube tickets – and be delivered right to the door. BACK up the stairs we went and asked someone about taxis. “Oh, there’s a mini cab place right down the street,” we were told encouragingly. <br />
<br />
We pop into the mini cab place and tell the feller there that we want to go to the Victoria and Albert Museum. No problem, he’s on the phone at once. It takes us a few minutes to realize that the cabs are not right there – he’s waiting for one to show up. Oh phooey, looks like we managed to take the long way again. We could have just hailed a regular cab. Sheesh. <br />
<br />
Not to worry though – we turned out to have a friendly cab driver from Aghanistan. Jeannie has a knack for recognizing accents and ethnic origins because of all her world travels. So she had a lively conversation with him about his family, his roots, and the problems in Afghanistan. “There are two problems in Afghanistan,” he said emphatically. “The first is ignorance – the people can’t read so they are easily led. The second is the imams – they lead the people in the wrong direction.” Very interesting perspective. Even though he’d been in the UK since the 1980s, he assured us that he and his children still viewed themselves as Afghans.<br />
<br />
<b>Raquelle:</b> The conversation was interesting, but I was too distracted by the traffic to fully absorb it. My general rule of thumb is to always ride facing BACKWARDS in London taxis but I was stuck facing forward this time. Rats. So, for instance, I heroically muffled high-pitched screams of terror as the taxi driver effortlessly dodged an oncoming bus by whipping in behind a line of parked cars. (This is perfectly normal over there but I had forgotten.) I bit my tongue when several cabs cut our driver off and nearly caused a collision. The taxi driver wasn’t fazed....he merely sighed dolefully about how the regular cab drivers just don’t care about traffic etiquette. This is true. They all drive like madmen. But then, so did he. <br />
<br />
What do they drive like in Banff-ff-ff? <br />
<br />
<b>Heather:</b> FINALLY, we made it to the Victoria and Albert Museum! It’s too bad we were so tired because they had some lovely displays. We spent a lot of time looking at a clothing-through-the-centuries exhibit and a jewelry exhibit. We were particularly impressed with a tiara made from coral – not coral beads, but actual pieces of coral. Very pretty and unusual looking.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7veEUSRU_TxBox2ZKMhNgYGUjyDA3BBVoayK_FbHjB6J25rdq8rmrei3eKezaLHz0J0QUxzzlGNmFUDJ4ltsR1v6_ZR3AMGLkeoSVjaTO8noLye1mafLm3TIrqq2r7Mb1OpYekCAQ07MQ/s1600/IMG_5159.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="400" width="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7veEUSRU_TxBox2ZKMhNgYGUjyDA3BBVoayK_FbHjB6J25rdq8rmrei3eKezaLHz0J0QUxzzlGNmFUDJ4ltsR1v6_ZR3AMGLkeoSVjaTO8noLye1mafLm3TIrqq2r7Mb1OpYekCAQ07MQ/s400/IMG_5159.JPG" /></a></div><i>Take a look at this snazzy red cage crinoline!</i><br />
<br />
<br />
By now, we were exhausted and hungry. Nobody was thinking straight. We decided some sustenance was absolutely required so we stepped outside into the courtyard and got some light snacks from the sidewalk café – ice cream and fruit. We plopped down on the grass to enjoy our repast. It was a gorgeous sunny day and there was a large crowd out enjoying the fountain in the middle of the courtyard. It was a big walk-in fountain and the kids especially were having a great time splashing in it. Pigeons sidled up brazenly to the passerby looking for handouts. <br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA4Nzr5PmVGLkzn2MacShJ-z93Epr1ndqc0GWyCPoF3FrrrEdZZgAmbf4KeogqmuwtU5fjiVG0cURCavm20OUSLKRt0Q8gghwgJzgtr8h9w0-HO0GfLqZV8DfUTrLnPZh_OepTo384yV4w/s1600/England+2012+101.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="300" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA4Nzr5PmVGLkzn2MacShJ-z93Epr1ndqc0GWyCPoF3FrrrEdZZgAmbf4KeogqmuwtU5fjiVG0cURCavm20OUSLKRt0Q8gghwgJzgtr8h9w0-HO0GfLqZV8DfUTrLnPZh_OepTo384yV4w/s400/England+2012+101.JPG" /></a></div><i>The courtyard of the V&A.</i><br />
<br />
We were still really tired however.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgewTMPq-PZp6Zo2IihvxGFrLpRwJPfEJJMUIC1oOXBWUkMkjLvitXhqgAqAhXHkL9U-_O0KdAqZzvB10sPYgqEHbO3ijg_kOuv94CGPqoI76Kel0QWafkLyMGoFK-StJ5e7jwj4sZKa2zQ/s1600/England+2012+089.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="300" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgewTMPq-PZp6Zo2IihvxGFrLpRwJPfEJJMUIC1oOXBWUkMkjLvitXhqgAqAhXHkL9U-_O0KdAqZzvB10sPYgqEHbO3ijg_kOuv94CGPqoI76Kel0QWafkLyMGoFK-StJ5e7jwj4sZKa2zQ/s400/England+2012+089.JPG" /></a></div><i>Zzzzzzzz.......</i><br />
<br />
We had enough energy left to grab a taxi (Raquelle sat BACKWARDS) and head back to the hotel, where we all took bee-you-ti-ful NAPS. <br />
<br />
Groggily awaking from our naps, we decided it was time for dinner. Rather than struggle to navigate to a restaurant, we decided to enjoy salads in our rooms and then crash. <br />
<br />
<b>Raquelle:</b> See? I TOLD you that getting salads at the airport was a good idea. Nobody ever listens to me. *stalks off muttering*<br />
<br />
Oh, and to provide a bit of cultural normalcy (American, I mean) and help us acclimate, I passed around miniature Snickers bars for everyone for dessert. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf_ODBZHSWvb5vSZjy1E_HImU77JLHRw3Eg6agKmDF7Wg6wcA8Gu5S-VS3sPV90d-R9iop3hTA8PsniKRx88uL7R9Kq-Y8Fuj9DbgdutnaWJl7eMr4C6x658arsi_NyOnSn23v7W9Gxe6b/s1600/R+-+IMG_2642.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="300" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf_ODBZHSWvb5vSZjy1E_HImU77JLHRw3Eg6agKmDF7Wg6wcA8Gu5S-VS3sPV90d-R9iop3hTA8PsniKRx88uL7R9Kq-Y8Fuj9DbgdutnaWJl7eMr4C6x658arsi_NyOnSn23v7W9Gxe6b/s400/R+-+IMG_2642.JPG" /></a></div><i>A relaxed supper in the room!</i><br />
<br />
<br />
A hot shower to remove the grime of travel was followed by setting me setting my travel alarm clock. None of the hotels on this trip, chains or otherwise, were equipped with nightstand alarm clocks. I found this Most Peculiar. <br />
<br />
Mom and Heather roomed together and Jeannie and I roomed together. We assigned rooms based on several qualifications, including, but not limited to, the following:<br />
<br />
1. Mom is a Cleanie.<br />
2. Raquelle is a Messie.<br />
3. Under stress, they both increase these respective habits exponentially.<br />
<br />
They cannot possibly share a hotel room together without collectively driving each other BONKERS.<br />
<br />
Jeannie is a great roommate. She’s neat and tidy. She wears noise-cancelling headphones and eyeshades to bed, which means disorganized night owl roommates (like me) can stumble about the room till all hours without disturbing her. Jeannie was a much better roommate to me than I was to her. More on that later......there’s a really funny story coming up in another entry.......<br />
<br />
<b>Heather:</b> Mom and I were on a different floor than Raquelle and Jeannie. And for some reason, we kept having trouble with our room keys. After having to get them re-magnetized twice, we once again found ourselves locked out of the room just as we were about to get ready for bed. We stalked disgustedly back to Raquelle and Jeannie’s room to call the front desk for help. They sent someone to our room to check out the problem. After a few minutes, we received a phone call in Raquelle’s room. “Go ahead and meet the technician at your room and he’ll show you how to operate the door,” they said cheerfully. <br />
<br />
“They KNOW how to operate the door,” Raquelle said politely. “The key just doesn’t work.”<br />
<br />
“Well....er.....ah.....the technician needs to show you, can you meet him there? Oh thank you!” the clerk gushed. <br />
<br />
We stumped back to our room and met a delightful gentlemen with a tool kit who gave us a flow of encouraging words (you have to imagine the British accent).<br />
<br />
“Not to worry ladies, we don’t have any spare locks to put on, that’s what really needs to happen, these old locks, you know, but if you give it a good WHACK when you put the key in, that should suffice.” He demonstrated by smacking the lock with the heel of his hand. Okay. No problem. “Cheerio!” he grinned, as he headed down the hall.<br />
<br />
Thereafter we had no more trouble, but if we had, we now knew the secret: Just hit it. Not a hard thing to do at the end of a long, exhausting day.<br />
<br />
<b>Raquelle:</b> Jeannie and I crashed into bed and zonked. At 11:00, unprompted, the television turned itself on. It woke me up. In my befogged half-asleep state of mind, I politely asked Jeannie if she had turned it on and was watching it. At least, I tried to. I think it came out more like, “Hey, whadza there’s a have you will you eggplant frozen your cat treat cancelled?”<br />
<br />
Jeannie lifted her head and responded in like manner with her usual bright and friendly smile. She didn’t even remember the exchange the next morning, so I expect she said something like, “If you blanket sweet no problem watercolor I’ve always, bless your heart.”<br />
<br />
Satisfied, I staggered out of bed and turned it off. <br />
<br />
Then we all slept blissfully and dreamed of Banff-ff-ff, I’m sure.<br />
<br />
Stay tuned for the next installment….<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Heather Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03350882971891496288noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3244533696111728633.post-15359716295101173492012-09-11T12:43:00.000-07:002012-09-11T12:43:00.320-07:00Mind the GapWell, we obviously haven't had as much time to blog as we thought we would. :sheepish grin: HOWEVER, we are taking copious notes so as to write some highly interesting entries later in our trip... or maybe when we get home. :)<br><br>
So far, we have been wowed by a lovely coral tiara in the Victoria and Albert Museum, a gorgeous plaid taffeta dress from 1865, not to mention a triple rainbow as we drove through the Midlands today AND a humongous, elegant meal at the end of the day. <br><br>
We've been running our legs off (literally) from dawn till dark so we haven't had lots of time to write. But we're storing up fun memories to write up for y'all so stay tuned! Heather Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03350882971891496288noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3244533696111728633.post-11341055078473080542012-09-08T11:53:00.004-07:002012-09-08T11:53:53.244-07:00We're Here!We are here in London and are POOPED from being up about 28 hours straight. Hopefully we'll have a blog entry coming soon....Heather Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03350882971891496288noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3244533696111728633.post-5484681647595160512012-09-06T13:58:00.000-07:002012-09-06T13:58:34.048-07:00Off To England... AlmostThree suitcases, six carryons, lots of chocolate and partridge in a pear treeeeee! We're almost ready to go on our Jane Austen tour of England!<br><br>
Last year, our long-time friend Jennie posted pictures from the 2011 tour. We were like, "Hey, how do you get to be on that tour?" She said you had to sign away your first-born son and give all your chocolate as a bribe.<br><br>
Haw haw, jest kidding. Actually, Jennie said she'd put us on the email list for the 2012 trip. So last year, when she emailed that the tickets were for sale (on Saturday) we hastily conferred with ourselves about whether to go. It went something like this:<br><br>
<b>Heather & Raquelle:</b> Let's go!<br>
<b>Mom:</b> Can we afford it?<br>
<b>Dad:</b> Let's be clear on this - I DON'T want to go.<br><br>
On being pressed for the reason he didn't want to go, Dad observed, "Because you'll just spend all your time looking at old clothing in museums and I'll have to carry your suitcases the whole trip." Huh, HOW did he know that?? :grin:<br><br>
So we finally convinced Mom that we could afford it but then she was worried about us navigating the world (or at least, England) without Dad. That's when we had the brilliant idea of asking our world-traveler-friend Jeannie to come with us. A hasty phone call to her confirmed that she would be willing to go. <br><br>
And so, we emailed Jennie on Sunday and said to save four tickets for US!!! Which was a good thing, because the tickets were sold out by Monday.<br><br>
So here we are, one year later, almost packed and ready to roll. Some pressing questions are still on our minds however.<br><br>
<b>Will our bonnets make it in one piece?<br><br>
Will our supply of chocolate hold out?<br><br>
Does English gluten free food taste as nasty as regular English food?<br><br>
Will we survive SIX HOURS of layover in Newark airport?<br><br>
And finally, are the four cats going to survive only having good ole Dad to watch after them?</b><br><br>
Stay tuned to find out!<br><br>
One final note about future blog posts: Yes, our friend JENNIE is leading the trip and our friend JEANNIE is traveling with us. This will be confusing. We're trying to get used to it. I do foresee many hilarious occasions of us hollering, "Jen - Jean - JennieJeannieWhateverYourNameIs!!!" <br><br>
So Cheerio, y'all! Check us out in a day or two to see if we're still alive!
Heather Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03350882971891496288noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3244533696111728633.post-60470965602875575552011-06-21T10:22:00.000-07:002011-06-21T19:25:52.607-07:00150 Years Later.... Day 1<strong>Heather:</strong> In April 2011 our family embarked on the coolest trip of a lifetime. We went to Charleston, SC to commemorate the 150th anniversary of the start of the Civil War.<br /><br />The American Civil War (aka the War Between the States) changed the face of warfare, galvanized innovated technology such as submarines and breech loading cannons, gave rise to medical infrastructures like the Red Cross, created legends like the submarine Hunley not to mention good ole Stonewall Jackson, and introduced huge changes - some good and some bad - into how American society operates. The philosophical issues being debated at the time are just as relevant today as they were 150 years ago. And so being a part of this commemoration was a highlight for our whole family.<br /><br /><b><font color="red">Gettin' Ready</font></b><br />Of course, you know how our family operates where a trip is concerned. Other people say, "Oh, a trip, let's pack a suit case and go." Not us, nope, no sireebob. We have to COMPLICATE things.<br /><br />First, since no one else was planning a ball for this event, we decided to. We lived four hours away from the venue where it was held, but hey, that just made planning the event all that more, uh, "exciting." :P As we were literally setting up camp at another reeanctment this spring, we were also on the phone with Emmy-award winning band, Unreconstructed... and with the <em>USS Yorktown </em>event staff. Yeah. We had a ball on the hanger deck of the WWII-era aircraft carrier at Patriots Point. How cool is that?<br /><br />Second COMPLICATION was that the week before Christmas we wound up with a pipe leak on the third floor of our house which, since we were gone all day the day it burst, totally soaked 2/3 of all three floors. Two weeks before our trip (and three months after the pipe burst) we FINALLY had new drywall, new paint and new carpet. Meanwhile, we lived in a humongous mess that severely hampered such activities as sewing new outfits for all four of us.<br /><br />Third COMPLICATION wasn't supposed to be a complication. After figuring up the hotel bill for six of us (oh, did I mention that Grandma and Gramps from Texas came out to go with us on this trip?), we decided it would be cheaper to rent a house for the ten days we'll be here. Simple, right? Just rent one of those nice lil vacation home thingies in Mount Pleasant, five minutes away from Patriots Point. Except then it dawned on us - that means we have to COOK. And CLEAN. And bring SUPPLIES to cook and clean. Suddenly, the three vehicles we drove there in seemed awfully small.<br /><br />And the fourth COMPLICATION was actually a good one - but still a challenge. You see, we have a lot of reenacting friends from various places who also attended this event. That meant that we wanted to coordinate with them. The number of events happening this week was humongous, so we had to first narrow down the list of what we wanted to do each day and then coordinate with our friends to see if they wanted to go with us. To streamline the process, I finally made a big calendar grid of our trip wherein we listed on each day where we were going, what outfits should be worn, who we were doing it with, and what was for dinner (so the cooks amongst us could keep track of groceries).<br /><br />Here is the calendar in all its glory:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUVQE5y9iK_R4tLX4ihf85ynQGhuoQrc4Kbzw0gJa9vtr73Hp-tn9PcCOXKltAXIy6wEsuXEQ_1ayzWpI6OMZ7_2lrF-83SNSs8YPxmBjBE_92oZTDbrwUpE22GhO2S2qX6tFrK6Ne55Ye/s1600/calendar.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 247px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUVQE5y9iK_R4tLX4ihf85ynQGhuoQrc4Kbzw0gJa9vtr73Hp-tn9PcCOXKltAXIy6wEsuXEQ_1ayzWpI6OMZ7_2lrF-83SNSs8YPxmBjBE_92oZTDbrwUpE22GhO2S2qX6tFrK6Ne55Ye/s400/calendar.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620851364900119378" /></a><br /><br /><strong>Raquelle:</strong> Heather didn't mention the FIFTH complication, which was that reenactors are so interested in authenticity that they also purposely try to recreate the miscommunication and dearth of Useful Information that was so common during the War. At least, we think that's the reason. At any rate, finding all the who/where/when information for all the stuff we're doing was a challenge, particularly since various organizers kept changing their minds, including, but not limited to, the City of Charleston, the Fort Sumter personnel, the National Park Service, assorted reenacting units, and seventeen partridges in pear treeeeeeeeeeeeeeees. Oh, and do you realize that if there had been a government shutdown, most of the Fort Sumter stuff would have been called off because Fort Sumter is a national park? I never thought I would follow a government budget fight so closely before.....<br /><br /><strong>Heather:</strong> Howsomever, bright and early Friday morning we managed to get all six of ourselves, all three of our vehicles and all fifty-leven of our outfits OUT the door and ON the road. A herculean task, I assure you.<br /><br />At this point, I shall allow the whole family to offer their perspectives of this hysterical...er, <i>historical</i> trip.<br /><br /><strong>Grandma:</strong> They say the journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. I took the step, propelled by Dale, out the back door, locking it behind me. Down the porch and into our over-crowded car I heaved myself. We left our city and headed out over the highways and sometimes byways toward our destination. First Greenville, then onto Charleston, South Caroline to take part in the huge Sesukllll celebration of the War between the States.<br /><br /><i>Note: Grandma knows how to spell Sesquicentennial like the rest of us, but - also like the rest of us - finds it more fun to spell things her own way. Plz to note Mark Twain's comment on this subject: "It is a poor, uncreative mind that cannot come up with more than one way to spell a word." Now... back to our regularly scheduled program.</i><br /><br /><strong>Gramps:</strong> From the perspective of a private soldier who, having been asked by the commander of Ferguson’s Battery to come to Charleston, South Carolina with all due deliberate speed, I traveled to Greenville, South Carolina where I joined Captain Ray Sheen of Company B, 3rd Regiment Confederate Engineers in the uniform of South Carolina Militia officer. <br /><br />Since there was no Confederacy at that time period, our Confederate gray uniforms would not do. My wonderful granddaughters demonstrating their haberdashery skills, had a new Militia uniform waiting for me when I arrived. We then set out with our equipment and gear for Charleston.<br /><br /><strong>From Dad's After-Action Report (AAR):</strong> Representatives from the South Carolina Militia Engineers arrived in the Charleston area on the afternoon of April 8, 2011 following a smooth journey from their normal duty post in Taylors, SC. A preliminary encampment was already established by Col. Terry on Hog Island in an area known as Patriot’s Point. Capt. Ray Sheen of the SC Militia Engineers and Pvt. Dale Roberts, on special assignment from Terry’s Texas Rangers, set up the engineering camp with able assistance from their family members, Shirley Roberts, Holly Sheen, Heather Sheen, and Raquelle Sheen. <br /><br />The camp site was located on Hog Island near Mount Pleasant on the banks of the Charleston harbor. Fort Sumter could be clearly seen, standing nearly two miles away. (This site was not an original firing site, but was close to one of the original sites in Mount Pleasant. Patriot’s Point had cleared several acres for our encampment.) The engineer’s camp was located at the entrance to the encampment area and the Cheval-de-Frise was erected in the entrance road to prevent incursions of Yankee-sympathizing cavalry. Included in the engineering camp was a large map of the Charleston harbor showing the sites of the 15 batteries that would soon open fire on Fort Sumter (this map was a sketch map from 1861 located on www.footnote.com). This map became an immediate point of interest of almost all the visitors to the encampment and provided a great conversation starting point with visitors.<br /><br /><strong>Heather:</strong> We stopped at Arby's for lunch, if I remember right, and Grandma assured us that she would save half her sandwich for take-out. We all immediately said, "That's a great idea, Grandma! We're gonna be hungry long before dinner time today." Grandma bugged her eyes at us in amazement because normally we all tease her about her addiction to take-outs. But she was smart this time - we really did get hungry long before supper rolled around!<br /><br /><b><font color="red">Gettin' There</font></b><br />The weather was perfect and we showed up at Patriots Point exactly on time. First we had to go to a building called the Omar Shrine to get registered for the week's events. (I'm not making that name up.) The Omar Shrine was closed but behind it (in the shade) were several tables and lots of exceedingly helpful and nice staff people. Unlike typical reenactment registrations, they were ORGANIZED. And EFFICIENT. But we had to prove our identity in triplicate and sign away our firstborn sons before we could get our packets and badges. Er, wait, maybe they just wanted our drivers licenses and license plate numbers. Something like that.<br /><br />Anyway, they assured us we MUST wear our badges AT ALL TIMES except if we got the Official Cockade the next day at Fort Moultrie we could wear that instead because frankly, the badges did not look period correct. But they did look ever so official. I had FUN with my badge that week. Ahem, more on that later (if I remember when we get to that point). But the main point was that we had to have our badges AT ALL TIMES because the FBI or Homeland Security might stop us and ask us where our BADGES where and if we didn't have one we'd have to, I dunno, pretend we were a spectator and walk off or something? I'm not making this up either. That's what they told us. The FBI and Homeland Security part, that is. Everyone knows that reenactors are dangerous people - anyone goofy enough to put on a hoop skirt is definitely on a suspect list somewhere.<br /><br />Once we got our super secret decoder badges at the Omar Shrine, we piled back into our three vehicles and headed up the road to the encampment spot. The encampment was near the Patriots Point golf course. So the "parking lot" was a lovely green swath along the road. The encampment spot, however, was recently bush hogged out of howling wilderness so it left a little to be desired, ground-wise. But before we could get to the encampment spot, we first had to pass GARFIELD.<br /><br />For those who have not met Garfield in our blogs before (the "big burly white-haired dude"), he is an Institution Of Reenacting. I think he's older than dirt and two days older than water. I might be off on that though, it might be three. He has a bushy white beard and a low rumbling voice and he loves to harass us. Come to think of it, we like to harass him too. The first thing he said when we walked up was, "Ladies, I almost didn't recognize you without your clothes on."<br /><br />OK, so it's a dumb reenactor's joke, don't roll your eyes like that!<br /><br />Of course, he meant that our 21st century attire makes us look really different than our 19th century attire does. Y'know, it's a funny thing, but I agree - I mean, I have all these friends that I really like and I wouldn't even recognize them in the street if they came along wearing jeans and stuff, cuz you wouldn't BUH-LEEVE how much difference a bonnet makes, not to mention a hoop skirt...<br /><br /><strong>Off-Stage WHACK</strong><br /><br /><strong>Heather</strong> Oh right, what was I saying? Ahem...<br /><br />So anyway, back to Garfield. I suspect he was enjoying himself just a little cuz he had THREE (or was it four?) notebooks we had to sign before he could let us through. We had to sign those waiver thingies they always give you at reenactments which say that if you're so stupid as to shoot yourself in the foot with your period-correct canon, then you'd better not sue them for mental stress derived therefrom. Or something like that. And then we had to say which unit we were with - we had to sign that several times. And THEN we had to sign which dates we would be there on - I dunno, maybe they were gonna sell our spot to a latecomer if we left early, ya think?<br /><br />However, after finally signing everything in site and exchanging more banter with Garfield, we headed for our encampment spot. Dad had breezed through sign-in already and was with Col. Vernon Terry, laying out our site. We would be at the entrance to the whole shebang, which is very cool if you like spectators to come learn stuff from you. Dad was pleased. <br /><br />So we set up. Two tents. Three flies. Eight heavy wooden chairs. Forty-leven tables, large and small. A cot, several large tubs, and four hundred (approximately) cases of Dad's period engineering instruments. Also a large hoisting tripod, a gabion, and a chevaul de frise. (Doncha love my big words? I'm hoping you'll ask me what they mean.) <br /><br />The sun was hot. There was no shade. The water of Charleston Harbor looked lovely but was not reachable unless we wanted to slog through a hundred feet of marsh, plus a steep drop-off. We got hot. Also tired.<br /><br />Finally, we were just about done. I went to fill up our pails with water. We always keep water pails around cuz this ONE time we were at the Battle of Aiken and a FIRE started at a neighboring tent and there was no WATER so we had to form a BUCKET BRIGADE to the nearest spigot to put it out....<br /><br /><strong>Off-Stage WHACK</strong><br /><br /><strong>HEATHER:</strong> So ANYWAY, we always keep water around. I went over to the water buffalo which was hidden in the trees by the portajons and it had a big sign on that said "NON-POTABLE WATER - DO NOT DRINK". And I'm like, I don't WANT to drink it, I just want to keep it around in case of FIRE. So I start filling my container and a staff guys walks by and stops, all concerned. "That water is NON-POTABLE, you shouldn't drink it!" he exclaimed. And I'm like, "I don't WANT to drink it, I just want to keep it around in case of FIRE." So he smiles and walks off and I take it back to the tent. Dad asks me where I got it, So I tell him. And he says, "Heather, you do realize that is NON-POTABLE WATER, right?" Whereupon I'm like, "I don't WANT to..." Yeah, well you all know.<br /><br />So FINALLY we're done and we pile back into all three vehicles and head for our rental house.<br /><br />Note about the rental house: We had only seen it from the outside. And from the outside, it looked Really Small. Like, way too small for six people and six people's multiple wardrobes. (Traveling in two different centuries definitely presents baggage problems.) Not to mention all our FOOD and BALL stuff. So we were kinda wondering if everything was going to fit.<br /><br />We needn't have worried however. It turned out to be one of those cool houses that looks dinky on the outside but is pretty spacious inside. I mean, spacious before we brought all our junk in. After that, it didn't look spacious any more. But it held all our stuff!<br /><br />Of course, I'm not sure Mom saw it that way... and I Grandma definitely had an opinion...<br /><br /><strong>Grandma:</strong> The Sheens had rented a vacation house in Mount Pleasant, very close to Patriot Point and other landmarks where the events were to be held. When we arrived we were a little taken aback at the size of the house. It was a small cottage in a neighborhood of older homes. Pleasant enough inside though, problem was only one small and one average bath for six people, four of them females. And poor Raquelle had to sleep on a hideabed as she and Heather refused to share a queen size bed. I suppose they tossed a coin and she came out loser. Then, horrors, there was no utility or convenient niche to set up the Ever Present Ironing Board! That was a real hardship for women who, in a burning house, would grab the board and iron before any other precious keepsakes. <br /><br /><strong>Heather:</strong> Two teams started to work - the supper team and the rearranging team. We finally got a good supper of homemade soup and bread on the table. And we also finally got the house arranged to suit us. Grandma and Gramps definitely had more bedroom space after we took out the organ. And Mom was pleased with the loan of our bedroom lamp. Raqu took over the office as her Command Post from which to do important things like sleeping and schoolwork. Dad checked out the internet connection and was highly pleased that it worked fine. <br /><br />And since the fellers were slated to rise at 6:30 am the next morning, they called it a night and we all went to bed. Er, well, almost all. Mom, Raqu and I had a few more things to do before bed. That's when we discovered a slightly irritating facet of our temporary home: creaky floors.<br /><br />Walk to the bathroom: Creak thump creaky creak.<br />Walk to the bed: Creeeeeeak groan.<br />Walk to the kitchen: Er-eeee, creaky, creeeeeak.<br />Breath heavily: Creaky creaky creaky.<br /><br />Oh well, I guess ya can't have everything. As everyone else pulled pillows over their heads to drown the noise, we hastily got ourselves into bed with as little creaking as possible.<br /><br />End of Day 1.<br /><br /><strong>Teaser from Dad's AAR for Day 2:</strong> Capt. Sheen ensured his family was settled into a house they had secured in Mount Pleasant and saw very little of them for the rest of the week as they quickly became involved in Charleston society.Heather Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03350882971891496288noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3244533696111728633.post-62694227731758018022010-06-06T19:03:00.000-07:002010-06-13T12:38:13.524-07:00Tennessee Gathering, Day 3<strong><span style="color:#ff0000;">Heather:</span><br />Highlight:</strong> Sleeping late. Or rather, laying in bed late. Once people started stirring at 6 am, it was a little tough to continue sleeping.<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Taking a shower with my Highly Organized Shower Kit. I thought of this BEFORE we left and got it all planned - a nice little kit of soap, shampoo, and such that one could blithely grab up while still wrapped in early morning mental fog without having to search through disastrous suitcases for needed items.<br /><br /><strong>Lowlight:</strong> Forgetting to bring my towel along. Nuts. So much for my Highly Organized Shower Kit.<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> A sweet person (Mary Kate, maybe? I couldn't see over the shower door) went and got my towel for me! Thanks, nameless one!<br /><br /><strong><span style="color:#3333ff;">Raquelle:</span><br />Lowlight</strong>: Getting up and feeling fed up with the mess. Like, we're talking SERIOUS DISORGANIZATION trying to cram ALL THAT STUFF into an itty bitty 2-foot space. I can guarantee the dorm was designed and built by GUYS. I gave up. Just leave the mess a mess. Whatever.<br /><br />:trips over pile of clothes:<br /><br /><a href="http://icanhascheezburger.com/2007/11/18/look-how-cute-i-iz-no-look-at-the-mess-look-at-the-cute/"><img class="mine_7609961" title="funny-pictures-kitten-is-cute" alt="funny pictures of cats with captions" src="http://icanhascheezburger.files.wordpress.com/2010/05/funny-pictures-kitten-is-cute.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Using my lovely iron and ironing board to iron my clothes. See last entry. Don't want to look like I'm wearing shriveled-up saran wrap that accidentally got sent through the dishwasher, which happend to me JUST the other day and I pulled out this wrinkly messed up glop of goo and I'm like, who stuck the SARAN in the DISHW----<br /><br /><span style="color:#cc0000;"><strong>Heather:</strong><br /></span>We got it, Raquelle, we got it. Chill.<br /><br /><span style="color:#3333ff;"><strong>Raquelle:</strong></span><br />:offended: I was just TRYING to EXPLAIN.........<br /><br /><span style="color:#cc0000;"><strong>Heather:<br /></strong></span>Well, STOP.<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Breakfast. Did we mention that they actually COOK the eggs the TN reunion instead of serving you runny gloppy goo? Very cool.<br /><br /><strong><span style="color:#3333ff;">Raquelle:<br /></span>GHASTLY LOWLIGHT:</strong> I was coming down the stairs and Josh came along behind me, deliberately singing, "Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord.........." I covered my ears and ran screaming in horror. :shudders: Terrible song. (It's a Southern thing, ask me later, trust me, you'll get an earful.)<br /><br /><a href="http://cheezburger.com/View/3531952896"><img id="_r_a_3531952896" title="C" alt="C" src="http://images.cheezburger.com/completestore/2010/5/16/129185130022636361.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Jason C. stopped me briefly. "Ah, Raquelle," he began, "I know that when you all travel, you bring everything but the kitchen sink. My dress shirt for tonight is terribly wrinkled. Is there a remote possibility that you brought an iron that I could borrow?"<br /><br />Hey, am I smug or what? Did I bring an iron? Of COURSE I brought an iron! :buffs nails airily:<br /><br />(Jason has seen our set-up at reenactments, he knows whereof he speaks when he says we bring everything but the kitchen sink. :D)<br /><br />I magnanimously offered to just iron the shirt myself, since Jason S. had already conned me into doing his too. But remember guys, next year it's $5 per person, unless you manage to be very ingratiating and can sufficiently bribe or flatter me. :D :D<br /><br /><span style="color:#cc0000;"><strong>Heather:</strong></span><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Wandering into the girls' bathroom to brush my teeth and getting involved in fixing Beth Ann's hair for the day. Whereupon, approximately six girls immediately made appointments for me to do their hair for the dance that night.<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Greg and Jason S both insisting I needed to come and play softball. For a dippie blond with no skills in sports, that was kinda nice.<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Charging into the girls' dorm to get my tennis shoes and being informed of A Plot. Involving water balloons.<br /><br /><strong>Entertaining Moment</strong>: Racing into the bathroom and discovering forty-leven girls all trying to fill water balloons at the sinks. Sometimes they didn't properly gage how much water a balloon would hold. Then an Instructive Moment ensued, wherein we all mopped water off ourselves and the walls.<br /><br /><strong>DISCLAIMER:</strong> I was only asked to be the photographer. I did not, in any way, shape or form, participate in bringing, filling or launching said balloons.<br /><br /><strong><span style="color:#3333ff;">Raquelle:<br /></span>DISCLAIMER:</strong> (assumes Sergeant Schultz voice): I know nnnnnnnnnnnothing, I see nnnnnnnnnnnnothing....<br /><br />I am totally innocent.<br /><br /><a href="http://cheezburger.com/View/366264576"><img id="_r_a_366264576" title="and den da goblins sed, don tell NO ONE!" alt="and den da goblins sed, don tell NO ONE!" src="http://images.icanhascheezburger.com/completestore/2008/3/6/anddendagobli128493303544375000.jpg" /></a><br /><br />Guys, all I've got to say is watch your back when Emily and Trisha are around. Not only did they craftily have the foresight to bring the balloons (1,000 of them--yes, 1,000) they brought a nice big cooler to keep the balloons all happy in. Devious. I would never do something like that. Ever. Of course not.<br /><br />And that whole thing about me feeding chocolate to the perpetrators when they got done filling the balloons? Yeah, I did it, but only because Emily and Trisha pinned me to a wall and THREATENED me. It was scary. I'm innocent, I swearz. You GOTTA believe me...<br /><br /><a href="http://cheezburger.com/View/858190592"><img id="_r_a_858190592" title="come find me when you have proof." alt="come find me when you have proof." src="http://images.icanhascheezburger.com/completestore/2008/7/31/comefindmewh128620421433030067.jpg" /></a><br /><br />I'm thinking at the next reunion I'm gonna have to start taking bodyguards around with me. Emily and Trisha are one scary combo.<br /><br /><a href="http://icanhascheezburger.com/2008/08/10/funny-pictures-army-thats-who/"><img class="mine_1594837" alt="cat" src="http://icanhascheezburger.wordpress.com/files/2008/08/funny-pictures-your-cat-has-an-army1.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">Heather:</span><br />Major Highlight:</strong> Riding in somebody's convertible PT Cruiser over to the softball field. We were following the Infamous Jeep, now loaded with only a moderate number of people. (Reports say that the park police had a talk with them the first day about how nine people are not supposed to fit in one jeep.) Riding in a convertible PT Cruiser with the top down with a bunch of friends with a, y'know, decisive driver is FUN.<br /><br /><strong>Lowlight:</strong> Watching the whole crew start to turn the wrong way.<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Me saying tentatively, "Don't we go the other way?" whereupon someone in our car stood up and hollered at the Jeep, "TURN RIGHT!" So we did and arrived at the softball field without mishap. Am I an awesome navigator or what? :pats self on back:<br /><br /><a href="http://cheezburger.com/View/2552903424"><img id="_r_a_2552903424" title="Mr. Miffles has yet to learn that sometimes it is best not to take the GPS directions literally." alt="Mr. Miffles has yet to learn that sometimes it is best not to take the GPS directions literally." src="http://images.cheezburger.com/completestore/2009/8/20/128952787790079194.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><strong>Lowlight:</strong> Getting cold feet about actually playing softball in front of :gasp: EVERYBODY. What if I COULDN'T HIT THE BALL? What if I tried to run and tripped over my shoelaces and fell flat on my face? What if I tried to catch the ball and landed flat on my back instead, as Kamon so picturesquely did the day before? (I think he did it on purpose though.) WHAT IF I LOOKED LIKE A TOTAL BLOND IDIOT OUT THERE? These, and other penetrating questions filled my mind as I looked at all those hefty guys lining up for the teams.<br /><br /><span style="color:#3333ff;"><strong>Raquelle:</strong></span><br />I didn't have any such penetrating questions. I just didn't go. Simple. :purrs: The only job I think I could handle in a baseball game would be umpire, because that involves being The Last Word, which is always cool.<br /><br /><a href="http://icanhascheezburger.com/2010/04/08/funny-pictures-of-going-to-umpire-school/"><img title="funny-pictures-kitten-goes-to-umpire-school" alt="funny pictures of cats with captions" src="http://icanhascheezburger.files.wordpress.com/2009/10/funny-pictures-kitten-goes-to-umpire-school.jpg" /></a><br />see more <a href="http://icanhascheezburger.com/">Lolcats and funny pictures</a><br /><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">Heather:</span><br />Highlight:</strong> Having a good friend like Sara who said she'd do it if I did it. I'm SURE the guys were thrilled to have TWO goofy blonds playing.<br /><br /><br /><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEmaRUCvoSkzrUXiBHkeMElqjUCVKIwlhnalIDJ-oYW_1NABION_zacfo4NQA_Wh7wQRXPBQnEcptXkE0LpJo-wm_iSSMsTclZlFWK-DcgXIR9XAA1nWpDn1aAXaUfvkQ8uu_iwheU86-u/s1600/mizruffmiztuff.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 367px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481692658876031666" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEmaRUCvoSkzrUXiBHkeMElqjUCVKIwlhnalIDJ-oYW_1NABION_zacfo4NQA_Wh7wQRXPBQnEcptXkE0LpJo-wm_iSSMsTclZlFWK-DcgXIR9XAA1nWpDn1aAXaUfvkQ8uu_iwheU86-u/s400/mizruffmiztuff.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><strong>Entertaining Moment:</strong> Watching Kamon and Jason S. choosing teams. I wish I could remember all the funny remarks. Sara ended up on Kamon's team and I was on Jason's. We decided that we sorta canceled each other out that way.<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Hitting the ball BOTH times I was up at bat! YEEHAW! I didn't hopelessly embarrass myself!<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Catching the ball the only time it came towards me in the outfield. YEEEHAW. Another non-embarassing moment!<br /><br /><strong>Entertaining Moment:</strong> Facing Ben Paul as pitcher for the other team. When I was up to bat the first time, there was a great deal of hilarity going around about whether I could hit the ball. Ben had a good time pitching some goofball throw that had the ball arcing way up and then bouncing down at my feet. I rolled my eyes and politely asked if he could put it across the plate the next time. Whereupon, he solemnly promised to get serious (yeah right) and threw me good pitches after that.<br /><br /><span style="color:#3333ff;"><strong>Raquelle:</strong></span><br />Okay, wait. I know I'm rusty on my baseball knowledge, but why was he throwing you GOOD pitches? I thought the whole point was to throw you something you couldn't hit?<br /><br />Hopelessly confused. Whatever.<br /><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">Heather:</span></strong> Yeah, but the pitcher IS supposed to put the ball over the PLATE. See?<br /><br /><strong>Major Highlight In A Blond's Life:</strong> When I was up to bat the second time, Jason quietly asked me to hit the ball towards first base. I bugged my eyes and assured him I would if I could but made NO promises on my skill. However, Ben and I gave each other some cheesy grins and understood each other. Whereupon he gave me some good pitches and dadgum if I didn't hit that lil ole ball right towards first base! I COULD NOT BELIEVE IT. Cool.<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Watching the actual good players during the game. And the entertaining players. Like Kamon.<br /><br /><strong>Lowlight:</strong> Our team lost. But Jason is an awesome coach. Really! I think everybody had fun.<br /><br /><strong>Lowlight</strong>: Having to quit for lunch.<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Riding back in the Allison girls' car. You will not be surprised to know that they had bluegrass music playing.<br /><br /><span style="color:#3333ff;"><strong>Raquelle:</strong></span><br />Awright awready enough the thports-thports-thports. You all had fun. Marvelous. Let's get back to the interesting part now.<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Finding my pwecious widdle sewing box amid my mess and bringing it down to the dining hall to work on a lace-and-froo-froo Civil War era breakfast cap and visit with people. Oodles of fun, you have no IDEA.<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Chatting with Mrs. Ferrar and Jo the Merry while working on my cap.<br /><br /><strong>Lowlight:</strong> The youngest three Ferrar girls looked bored and lonesome.<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Dominos (dominoes? dominoze?) are a marvelous antidote to boredom. I fetched mine poste-haste. I also fetched what few shreds of chocolate I had remaining after The Perps (Emily and Trisha) starved and tortured me for it. Only one measley grocery sack full left. Alas. But I shared, like a good friend.<br /><br /><a href="http://cheezburger.com/View/557290240"><img id="_r_a_557290240" title="One fer U & 17 fer me." alt="One fer U & 17 fer me." src="http://images.icanhascheezburger.com/completestore/2008/5/5/oneferu17f128544921840603750.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Playing dominoes with the three Ferrar girls and several other cronies. We had a Highly Delightful Time and played until lunch time.<br /><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">Heather:</span><br />Lowlight</strong>: In the lunch line, we were only allowed one cookie apiece so as to save enough for the dance that night. They even posted Bob to guard the cookies. He looks ferocious. Scaree. :iz dutifully scared:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoxCXRfsFV3wQdonQyzT0XojY_n5bnY4s38pqKIqfogU2oUK_86DuvSVm89XeZ14p2YzEz5mRrMoqUZ8owEHYWepqrmaIvcVEqeWCYo0fUbVnEs1HLc7Gr1ybCWFlU27kDVhqIdilYpV5k/s1600/Bob+and+cookies.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 312px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480582504556700002" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoxCXRfsFV3wQdonQyzT0XojY_n5bnY4s38pqKIqfogU2oUK_86DuvSVm89XeZ14p2YzEz5mRrMoqUZ8owEHYWepqrmaIvcVEqeWCYo0fUbVnEs1HLc7Gr1ybCWFlU27kDVhqIdilYpV5k/s400/Bob+and+cookies.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Bob, at my request, picking out the BIGGEST cookie for me. If you can only have one, you might as well make it count, sez I.<br /><br /><strong><span style="color:#3333ff;">Raquelle:</span><br /></strong>You really did that? Gosh, what a greedy-gus.<br /><br /><span style="color:#cc0000;"><strong>Heather:</strong></span> You only get to live life once, y'know. Unless you're a cat. If I were a cat, I wouldn't be so worried about getting the biggest cookie, see?<br /><br /><strong>Highlight (I think):</strong> Eating lunch with Stacy. He complained that last time I never did bother to eat with him, so this time Raqu and I made a point of sitting down across from him to badger him through the entire meal. When he started fussing at us about our tag team teasing, I pointed out that we were just doing as he asked and sitting with him at a meal. "I DIDN'T MEAN BOTH OF YOU AT ONCE!" he hollered. Man, some people don't know a good thing when they have it.<br /><br /><strong>Highlight</strong>: Stacy (and cohorts) are always having fun "advising" Raquelle and I on our (non) love lives. So Raquelle and I decided to turn the tables and "advise" Stacy. "See," Raquelle said conspiratorily, "You need to flirt with all the girls so the ones who really like you will get jealous and hang out with you more." Stacy rolled his eyes and observed, "WHAT do you think I'm DOING right NOW?" Hmmm, good point.*<br /><br />*<strong>Disclaimer:</strong> For those who don't know us or Stacy personally, we were JOKING. Stacy's just a nut, that's all.<br /><br /><a href="http://cheezburger.com/View/3515330560"><img id="_r_a_3515330560" title="The classics never go out of style" alt="The classics never go out of style" src="http://images.cheezburger.com/completestore/2010/5/11/129181111279267216.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><span style="color:#3333ff;"><strong>Raquelle:</strong></span><br />Highlight? Jason trying to hook me on metal--AGAIN. Didn't work. Never does. Gotta give him points for optimism....<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLZdHtZDQVIKD9GdqyLcCxukaCpAokpM_SiChaNIA8H_I0TX6oaGpmuICdSHcfJBKtLIy5WEEMGjg8aGk0ifUACp3AxbdfayQgM2966MjjDbavk3ZKFvQ6k9KXsipwzOA1XUk5K3i4GCsE/s1600/Raqu+and+Jason1.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 302px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480582531676399234" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLZdHtZDQVIKD9GdqyLcCxukaCpAokpM_SiChaNIA8H_I0TX6oaGpmuICdSHcfJBKtLIy5WEEMGjg8aGk0ifUACp3AxbdfayQgM2966MjjDbavk3ZKFvQ6k9KXsipwzOA1XUk5K3i4GCsE/s400/Raqu+and+Jason1.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj0kWDkAxMxTWnw5ZTcO9tJVhwSCVs7rxVUGMDD_p0Wi8JA3nBaFi6ORYmUNN1eBUDd_c0wLoKDFMhNtPXS3Og-BEO3O2t6if2cq9Es9RMHwx_UResnNakVHmtcx-zPO49Lm3QOx4gy5KU/s1600/Raqu+and+Jason2.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 306px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480582522513236482" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj0kWDkAxMxTWnw5ZTcO9tJVhwSCVs7rxVUGMDD_p0Wi8JA3nBaFi6ORYmUNN1eBUDd_c0wLoKDFMhNtPXS3Og-BEO3O2t6if2cq9Es9RMHwx_UResnNakVHmtcx-zPO49Lm3QOx4gy5KU/s400/Raqu+and+Jason2.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyxyG8-W6aOSeeLHnFv-BUTKILCMK4xAHI6CLNHUUUiFBLpECJHhyphenhyphenvb620xviMSKH37SvJhlvF4PtEIzVjcUjJhrF4AN_yZUeL0pKrv0xS2bBM91kyNH2NodjAAHlu5teBCnyemGBZJhqg/s1600/Raqu+and+Jason3.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 336px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480582515662676674" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyxyG8-W6aOSeeLHnFv-BUTKILCMK4xAHI6CLNHUUUiFBLpECJHhyphenhyphenvb620xviMSKH37SvJhlvF4PtEIzVjcUjJhrF4AN_yZUeL0pKrv0xS2bBM91kyNH2NodjAAHlu5teBCnyemGBZJhqg/s400/Raqu+and+Jason3.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><span style="color:#cc0000;"><strong>Heather:</strong></span><br /><strong>Devious Highlight:</strong> Wandering outside with my camera to be ready for the Great Water Balloon Caper.<br /><br /><strong>Hilarious Highlight</strong>: Watching the moms keep a straight face and asking all the boys to line up for a group picture. The guys all went over to the railing to line up, whereupon we insisted the picnic tables were in the way and they needed to come closer to us (and, ahem, the balcony).<br /><br /><strong>Highly Entertaining Moment:</strong> Watching the girls open fire from above with the water ballons. You never saw so many guys move so fast!<br /><br /><a href="http://icanhascheezburger.com/2010/06/05/funny-pictures-attack-from-above/"><img title="funny-pictures-cats-attack-from-above" alt="funny pictures of cats with captions" src="http://icanhascheezburger.files.wordpress.com/2010/06/funny-pictures-cats-attack-from-above.jpg" /></a><br /><br />To their credit, the guys reacted very quickly. About half of them stormed towards the door to the balcony to race upstairs and return the attack. The other half started catching the balloons and throwing them back.<br /><br /><strong>Reminder of Disclaimer:</strong> I was only asked to be the photographer. I did not, in any way, shape or form, participate in bringing, filling or launching said balloons.<br /><br /><span style="color:#3333ff;"><strong>Raquelle</strong></span>: I know nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnothing, I see nnnnnnnnnnnnnnothing........<br /><br /><a href="http://cheezburger.com/View/3530157056"><img id="_r_a_3530157056" title="Your Honor, my client would like to request a dismissal on the basis of lack of evidence as during the last recess we eated all the evidence. I rest my case." alt="Your Honor, my client would like to request a dismissal on the basis of lack of evidence as during the last recess we eated all the evidence. I rest my case." src="http://images.cheezburger.com/completestore/2010/5/15/129184659489390450.jpg" /></a><br /><br />Julie managed to get the second half of the Great Water Balloon Caper on video - here it is.<br /><br /><img style="WIDTH: 0px; HEIGHT: 0px; VISIBILITY: hidden" border="0" src="http://counters.gigya.com/wildfire/IMP/CXNID=2000002.11NXC/bHQ9MTI3NjEyNjUxNzE5OCZwdD*xMjc2MTI2NTQxNjgyJnA9Mzg2MzYxJmQ9Jm49YmxvZ2dlciZnPTEmb2Y9MA==.gif" width="0" height="0" /><embed height="361" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="600" src="http://static.photobucket.com/player.swf?file=" wmode="transparent" allownetworking="all" allowfullscreen="true"></embed><br /><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">Heather:<br /></span>Lowlight:</strong> As the guys slowly reassembled and the girls came laughing down from the balcony, the guys reminded us of something we sorta, er, forgot. There was a WHOLE 24 HOURS LEFT of the event in which they could get even. Oopth.<br /><br /><span style="color:#3366ff;"><strong>Raquelle:<br /></strong></span>Hey, I coulda told the girls that. But did they ask Raquelle, the Great Tactician for advice? Nooooooooooo. They just TIED me UP and STOLE my chocolate at GUNPOINT! FOUL FIENDS!!!!<br /><br /><a href="http://cheezburger.com/View/3520062464"><img id="_r_a_3520062464" title="iz my circle of trust u iz out of it" alt="iz my circle of trust u iz out of it" src="http://images.cheezburger.com/completestore/2010/5/13/129182383744948700.jpg" /></a><br /><br />(Do you like how the story is getting more and more embellished each time I tell it?)<br /><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">Heather:</span><br />Highlight:</strong> Mom, Dad and I decided to go find some waterfalls and take a picture of them. After all, you can't go to Falls Creek Falls State Park and not get a picture of the FALLS. Since most of the group was going hiking/swimming/picture-taking at the falls too, we all sorta migrated together in forty-leven vehicles. Katie and Rachel Allison rode with us.<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Hiking to the overlook of Cascade Falls. Wow, what a drop! I am a dutiful person so I didn't even CONSIDER jumping. :makes no remark about other people's goofball maneuvers around 70-foot dropoffs:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqQemo2rm4bza5reGWcbvxltI-DwVMIPuBRY1R2EOcuBSW1vcHbIgbW7kCLNE2mP0lyO1MYafTKzR8aSyWD6WfxlBCYyQP5EKcyvWemrLT7MM7ZF-yWxAER_99DCqEaNDQX7FuGuOKGDMv/s1600/nocomment.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 238px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482329034361278594" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqQemo2rm4bza5reGWcbvxltI-DwVMIPuBRY1R2EOcuBSW1vcHbIgbW7kCLNE2mP0lyO1MYafTKzR8aSyWD6WfxlBCYyQP5EKcyvWemrLT7MM7ZF-yWxAER_99DCqEaNDQX7FuGuOKGDMv/s400/nocomment.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> The swimming hole at the bottom of Cascade Falls was beautiful - and we couldn't resist taking our shoes off and wading for a while. If we'd realized how nice it was, we'd have brought swim suits.<br /><br /><strong>Lowlight</strong>: Having to hike back UP to the top of the cliff to get to the swinging bridge that takes you across the falls to get to the hiking trail that takes you over the river and through the snow to Grandmother's house we gooooo.....<br /><br />Whoops, sorry, got carried away there.<br /><br /><strong>Lowlight:</strong> Walking across the swinging bridge after Dad. Dad has this thing about making swinging bridges, er, swing. Scary. But it's genetic, his dad does that too, I think they can't help themselves.<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Taking pictures from the swinging bridge... note Mrs. Reynolds waving to me down there.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOErzp9DVWd6HY_aEjHRTAMR2ZY6AdivEW5FRIE8AhXwLsu-2z2oGz3CeKv5PYrORWAP7spe-0iq9RJRT2Wr_CkhgvGxSILQNpEI-shbtmndDhqY-a97X_fP3zFcYiNceQGd2890_aFrrL/s1600/IMG_1140.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482064533903970242" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOErzp9DVWd6HY_aEjHRTAMR2ZY6AdivEW5FRIE8AhXwLsu-2z2oGz3CeKv5PYrORWAP7spe-0iq9RJRT2Wr_CkhgvGxSILQNpEI-shbtmndDhqY-a97X_fP3zFcYiNceQGd2890_aFrrL/s400/IMG_1140.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><strong>Lowlight:</strong> Starting the hike up the ridge to go see the REAL falls. Half way up, I sat down. "This is as far as I'm going," I declared. Dad went a little farther and realized it was going to get really steep... and we had to get back for dinner... so we decided to skip it.<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Crossing BACK over the swinging bridge BEFORE Dad. :D<br /><br /><span style="color:#3366ff;"><strong>Raquelle:</strong></span><br />We interrupt this nonsense with the Interesting Part, which is what *I* was doing.<br /><br />I didn't go hiking to see the falls, partly because I didn't realize how nice and pleasant it would be. Hiking in the scenery and dabbling ones' toes in the water is bully fun. Clomping forty miles through hot buggy underbrush and saying, "Oh look, there's a SNAKE!" and "Why didn't I remember my BUG repellent?" (which is how most hikes go) is not. So, being the prim little girl that I am, I stayed back. Me and Joy Gardner and Jolie and Catherine hunkered down on a couple of bunkbeds and proceeded to solve all of the world's problems. Didn't take very long, pretty soon we started working on Mars. That took longer because that's where the guys hang out and guys are just..............odd. We had a Very Bully Time.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGokhduUG216VN_U6pYtdnJcWOuQ_ahVCAFDOI34nQCwlgXTlPkzvdu6xiAL_mSHPqmOXPF1CJ3o_BfQTNTgHvf8i7j50GKBJP1TWeP8oe1pMY0qhSNu2BaWfmc8pI4FT3jOYar0Tz5C1i/s1600/Raqu+and+Joy.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482331919546988034" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGokhduUG216VN_U6pYtdnJcWOuQ_ahVCAFDOI34nQCwlgXTlPkzvdu6xiAL_mSHPqmOXPF1CJ3o_BfQTNTgHvf8i7j50GKBJP1TWeP8oe1pMY0qhSNu2BaWfmc8pI4FT3jOYar0Tz5C1i/s400/Raqu+and+Joy.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Remember what a Great Tactician I am? I had strategically (and correctly) calculated that about an hour before supper everyone would return from hiking and sportsing and take over the showers. So, with much wisdom and forethought, I seized the quiet afternoon hour to wash my hair and redo it for the dance that evening so that I wouldn't be one of the luckless mortals vying for a mirror and plug-in at the last minute.<br /><br /><a href="http://cheezburger.com/View/1861729024"><img id="_r_a_1861729024" title="Got here first :p" alt="Got here first :p" src="http://images.icanhascheezburger.com/completestore/2009/3/10/128812166927289394.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> My popularity suddenly increased the closer the evening got, when the GIRLS started wanting to borrow the iron. I instantly had lots of friends and was magnanimously glad to share with them all.<br /><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">Heather:<br /></span>Highlight:</strong> Arriving back at the dorms tired out and being served a yummy taco dinner! Did I mention we had some fabulous cooks?<br /><br /><span style="color:#3366ff;"><strong>Raquelle:</strong></span><br />I was standing by Kamon in line for dinner. He was muttering things under his breath about girls who throw water balloons.<br /><br />"You know," I suggested, "you guys could come off looking really good here. If you heaped burning coals of fire on our heads and got all the girls chocolate and flowers, you would seriously come out on top."<br /><br />"That would be cool," Kamon admitted in his usual bland Tennessee drawl. Then he added with calm satisfaction, "But what we have planned is Way More Cool."<br /><br />Uh-oh.<br /><br />Prior to this, there had been a few lame attempts by the guys to plant plastic cockroaches in strategic places to scare the girls, but we girls saw right through that. Yawn. Gotta get up pretty early in the morning to fool US.<br /><br /><a href="http://icanhascheezburger.com/2008/07/26/funny-pictures-scaree-run-for-life-happee-nowz/"><img class="mine_1512949" alt="cat" src="http://icanhascheezburger.wordpress.com/files/2008/07/funny-pictures-your-cat-does-not-really-fear-snakes.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><span style="color:#cc0000;"><strong>Heather:</strong></span><br /><strong>Lowlight:</strong> Bolting my dinner and charging off to clean up and change for the evening. I wanted to hurry because I'd picked up a few more hair appointments to do! LOL<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Putting on my new dance dress. Unlike my darling sister, who loves to do things the hard way, I chose a simple pattern for my dress and made it in two days. :smirk:<br /><br /><span style="color:#3366ff;"><strong>Raquelle:<br /></strong></span>Yes, but my dress was more fun and....*cough*.....MUCH foofier. A lot of angst went into it--especially when I wrecked seven yards of tulle (that's netting, for the uninitiated) by a stewpid slip of the scissors. I HATE TULLE. Also, there was the time when I designed the first set of sleeves (the pattern was sleeveless, I had to make my own sleeves). The sleeves came out looking like an explosion in a corkscrew factory and made me CRY. :sniffle: But the end result was Dretfully Fun to wear. I felt bootyful.<br /><br /><a href="http://cheezburger.com/View/1261256448"><img id="_r_a_1261256448" title="Don" alt="Don" src="http://images.icanhascheezburger.com/completestore/2008/11/1/128700840361007665.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><span style="color:#cc0000;"><strong>Heather:</strong></span> Don't forget to give a cameo appearance to the sister who painstakingly unraveled all that corkscrew-explosion at the last minute so you could redo your sleeves. :ahem:<br /><br /><span style="color:#3333ff;"><strong>Raquelle:</strong></span><br />Well, yeah, there was that. Luvs 'oo, sissy. I owe ya a mocha frappe. Wait, I just got you one today. We're clear. Don't ask for another one.<br /><br /><span style="color:#cc0000;"><strong>Heather:</strong></span><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Helping folks with their hair. I had a BLAST! I believe I've found a hidden talent. Or maybe a hidden mania. Or maybe just something that shoulda stayed hidden. LOL Anyway, we had curling irons, hair spray and all manner of hair ornaments spread out in the bathroom as everyone did their "do."<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnkwZPBZ4M7-Hiw1fQxt3T3T3AYy_ppmNssZA9rcMXFLLtEdKbDuQPUtD5FGVVFaAF6ZY5ooOw3ZKNj43YDXjcUFMb0ujDPkdzmTrAQ7CVd1wWdESjte2qyeEbq2Bx-bSHbLk004qUp2Sh/s1600/iz-gurl-thing.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481692652756181874" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnkwZPBZ4M7-Hiw1fQxt3T3T3AYy_ppmNssZA9rcMXFLLtEdKbDuQPUtD5FGVVFaAF6ZY5ooOw3ZKNj43YDXjcUFMb0ujDPkdzmTrAQ7CVd1wWdESjte2qyeEbq2Bx-bSHbLk004qUp2Sh/s400/iz-gurl-thing.jpg" /></a><br /><br />In fact, I believe we were the Blessed Dispensers of All Things at this event. To the sickies, we dispensed liberally from our traveling apothecary. To the bedless, we dispensed bedding. And to the I-Lost-Something-Or-Others, we dispensed all manner of Something-Or-Others.<br /><br />As we were working on hair, someone was fiddling with their outfit and said, "Does anyone have a safety pin?"<br /><br />"Yes, we do," I reported. Whereupon, someone (I forget who) said, "You girls are just like our MOTHERS! You bring everything we forgot!" LOL<br /><br /><strong><span style="color:#3366ff;">Raquelle:</span><br />Highlight:</strong> I picked up a few hair appointments myself, along with being the Official Lending Tree, as Heather said. I forget who it was that said, "The Sheens are like the go-to people for everything!" I felt special. Awww.......<br /><br /><a href="http://cheezburger.com/View/1184525056"><img id="_r_a_1184525056" title="Iz hard beeng idolizd. I liv with it." alt="Iz hard beeng idolizd. I liv with it." src="http://images.icanhascheezburger.com/completestore/2008/10/17/128687012786837237.jpg" /></a><br /><br />May I herein remind you that sometimes it pays to bring everything but the kitchen sink? :smug: It's simple. My rule of thumb for packing is:<br /><br />1. Bring it. Whatever you leave behind will be the one thing you DESPERATELY need. (If you don't believe me, try leaving something behind next time. Trust me.)<br /><br />2. Bring extra, because everyone will want yours.<br /><br />Wait, that was two rules. Does that make it two rules of thumb or one rule of thumbs?<br /><br /><span style="color:#cc0000;"><strong>Heather:</strong></span> Depends on if you're counting rules or thumbs. And in case you're wondering, you have two thumbs.<br /><br /><a href="http://icanhascheezburger.com/2007/04/13/i-have-evolved-thumbs/"><img class="imageframe" alt="I HAVE EVOLVED THUMBS. YOUR DAYS ARE NUMBERED." src="http://icanhascheezburger.files.wordpress.com/2007/04/thumbs.jpg" width="498" height="271" /></a><br /><br /><span style="color:#3333ff;"><strong>Raquelle:</strong></span> Anyway, I curled someone's hair (I believe it was Allison's), sprayed Julie's hair, put Elizabeth's up in a bun using my last four clips, lent a pair of knee-high's, lent a handful of safety pins, lent my lipstick and eyeliner, and dispersed brushes, combs, hairspray and curling irons with royal liberality.<br /><br /><a href="http://cheezburger.com/View/726920448"><img id="_r_a_726920448" title="Dood, can I borrow ur gel? It" alt="Dood, can I borrow ur gel? It" src="http://images.icanhascheezburger.com/completestore/2008/6/25/doodcaniborr128589162533371073.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><strong>Highlight</strong>: Throwing on my own dress and gussying myself up last minute. Thanks for helping, Mom!<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> My dad set up our sound system stuff AGAIN. Thanks Dad!<br /><br /><strong>Note:</strong> Now we just need to keep the masses' sticky fingers off of it.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnz_HLt9x4hc32R6IRWDP40y5qYZaDoHUjDey-RIq0TCqBA6TBpT6pyzqd4V_KAHPlNcXPLrEYLK8OdlmLyFoBmY99lxNJfSlsOApQUc7FGj3xEw1XAiV7BXoSTu_hHD8-YMsVQaRfaBRy/s1600/neenerneener.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 272px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481695791354491458" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnz_HLt9x4hc32R6IRWDP40y5qYZaDoHUjDey-RIq0TCqBA6TBpT6pyzqd4V_KAHPlNcXPLrEYLK8OdlmLyFoBmY99lxNJfSlsOApQUc7FGj3xEw1XAiV7BXoSTu_hHD8-YMsVQaRfaBRy/s400/neenerneener.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> The gaggle of girls mincing their way to the dance floor. Everyone looked so pretty!<br /><br /><a href="http://cheezburger.com/View/3613291776"><img id="_r_a_3613291776" title="Mirror mirror on teh wall Who teh fairist... OH MY! I IZ bootyful!" alt="Mirror mirror on teh wall Who teh fairist... OH MY! I IZ bootyful!" src="http://images.cheezburger.com/completestore/2010/6/8/129205235046104550.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><span style="color:#cc0000;"><strong>Heather:</strong></span><br /><strong>Highlight</strong>: We were standing around, visiting with folks and taking pictures when Greg and Clayton suddenly raced up and absconded with our fans! Turns out they were planning their third picture with them. Am I the only one who thinks it's weird that guys need girls' props for their photos?<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis0WQEhSDJkU1AgzvRSb7VsNOeXZyXY2uOIjUf77PraS92LbWQiEzAwuoOVGNEGfjEsRK3VnfxEwqB2E-RQq73iRxFz5wk8hSssfHwyLz-5w9OYATqtNG8ZJRAOlHu1YtwVpgohFKbpIgh/s1600/gusy-fans+1.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 313px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481692628465094466" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis0WQEhSDJkU1AgzvRSb7VsNOeXZyXY2uOIjUf77PraS92LbWQiEzAwuoOVGNEGfjEsRK3VnfxEwqB2E-RQq73iRxFz5wk8hSssfHwyLz-5w9OYATqtNG8ZJRAOlHu1YtwVpgohFKbpIgh/s400/gusy-fans+1.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7KGf3QX3jU6Q-Kzt2kCivvI3oTcqtOx3h_q2-538Eeqrs3IqlERrF0sLs2-GW9tevGgl9SwcxKoOGR2tUHGjVMhz4Y2RxWhUDxp2_bhzY8hN2BgpPN5zvfYGepawb72lXDNgpogk3ysq5/s1600/guys-fans+2.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 344px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481692633966817314" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7KGf3QX3jU6Q-Kzt2kCivvI3oTcqtOx3h_q2-538Eeqrs3IqlERrF0sLs2-GW9tevGgl9SwcxKoOGR2tUHGjVMhz4Y2RxWhUDxp2_bhzY8hN2BgpPN5zvfYGepawb72lXDNgpogk3ysq5/s400/guys-fans+2.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSpTbPGAE_XpQu_d6-Doos0yr-gqWfRPKEHx4hPBavufoPkw5ntzTd6mE0SmlVWcA_dzKxjbjrO98Vi5j7kKTYbOTAP_kVzikl9h1Mq3ncA4nAH-iSlCxaDKXK4uEQb5DSCGLFRFEDN0Pj/s1600/guys-fans+3.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 380px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481692644328710754" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSpTbPGAE_XpQu_d6-Doos0yr-gqWfRPKEHx4hPBavufoPkw5ntzTd6mE0SmlVWcA_dzKxjbjrO98Vi5j7kKTYbOTAP_kVzikl9h1Mq3ncA4nAH-iSlCxaDKXK4uEQb5DSCGLFRFEDN0Pj/s400/guys-fans+3.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><strong><span style="color:#3366ff;">Raquelle:<br /></span>Highlight:</strong> Sonia announced the first dance! I looked around expectantly but the guys standing near me had all vanished purposefully, one of them practically cutting me off mid-sentence. This is nothing new for many dance events and I tried to resign myself to being a wallflower. :pathetic little sigh:<br /><br />Wait a minute? What's all the laughter? What's all the hooting and clapping?<br /><br />I pushed away from the wall to go see what the ruckus was. OH MY GOODNESS! Kamon was right - it WAS cooler. The guys had each chosen a GUY for their partner, giving all the girls the cold shoulder, and were sanctimoniously and smugly making the ECD hands-four all down the line. REVENGE!!!! Nyah nyah!!!!<br /><br /><a href="http://cheezburger.com/View/2984043264"><img id="_r_a_2984043264" title="GREAT GOOGLEY MOOGILEY!" alt="GREAT GOOGLEY MOOGILEY!" src="http://images.cheezburger.com/completestore/2009/12/22/129059906277034014.jpg" /></a><br /><br />What a riot, I 'bout laughed myself sick.<br /><br />After the laughter died down and the guys Made Their Point, they ditched their male partners and opted for the girls instead. They didn't really want to dance with GUYS of course. Are you kidding??????????<br /><br /><a href="http://cheezburger.com/View/3068414464"><img id="_r_a_3068414464" title="What 27 levels of compatibility did eHarmony use for THIS?" alt="What 27 levels of compatibility did eHarmony use for THIS?" src="http://images.cheezburger.com/completestore/2010/1/14/129079949452721183.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">Heather:<br /></span>Highlight:</strong> I had lots of fun, both with calling dances and dancing dances. I love to dance, because it's fun to move purposefully to good music. I also love to call, because it's fun to watch an entire roomful of people do exactly what I say (or try to). It's the hidden bossy side of me.<br /><br /><span style="color:#3333ff;"><strong>Raquelle:</strong></span> You mean the NOT-hidden bossy side.<br /><br /><span style="color:#cc0000;"><strong>Heather:</strong></span> Quiet, poopsie, it's MY turn to write.<br /><br /><strong>Highlight</strong>: Every time I decided to sit out a dance, I got asked to dance anyway.<br /><br /><strong>Lowlight:</strong> This made my feet HURT.<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> But I never had so much FUN making my feet hurt!<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> The Fleming family, who lives in the area, came by for the evening and brought a huge tray of yummy crackers, cheese and meats. I went over and loaded up, both hands full.<br /><br /><strong>Lowlight:</strong> Jason S. asked me right then to dance the Physical Snob. What the heck to do with the chow in my hands? Jason, fortunately, sensed my problem immediately and was full of kind concern and helpful advice. "Eat it, eat it, stuff it in," he commanded. "We gotta get in line for this dance."<br /><br /><strong>Lowlight:</strong> Trying to follow Jason's advice. Let's just say it wasn't ladylike. But hey, we got in line for the dance!<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Dancing the Physical Snob with someone who knows how to look really snobby. Maybe it's that upper crust Virginia snootiness?<br /><br /><strong><span style="color:#3333ff;">Raquelle:<br /></span>Highlight:</strong> Did I mention I had this terribly foofy swishy dress?<br /><br />INTERRUPTION!!! And now, from your ONLY decent talk radio station, WD40, we bring you the LATEST 2010 election coverage!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpbloVqPF1N1Nn-eRJG6qXIuxFOdemIKT0VbfUWsbc1G1on6yIfb6a_r_CPrQgMyRLIDbPO46_bljB9W041243TFmnD272VB5Qbx47szwrVi1B0AUmruHhaVB9VEl8NqmKEZFGyrlpM9X-/s1600/election1.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481715171442573842" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpbloVqPF1N1Nn-eRJG6qXIuxFOdemIKT0VbfUWsbc1G1on6yIfb6a_r_CPrQgMyRLIDbPO46_bljB9W041243TFmnD272VB5Qbx47szwrVi1B0AUmruHhaVB9VEl8NqmKEZFGyrlpM9X-/s400/election1.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz0hhGPlYAWzcWkSguxSiEggI83Nb5hhYby42PDb12M3h-gMuAIspvrL-u9SgD3qYkQQqzqblTd2HrgzWa-4U-Z56jOQmISqOn71DHfxZGO9eHh2gIUTC2LObb3fo2GPJ5qr1ZT0EK4Mac/s1600/election3.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 296px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481715185809931618" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz0hhGPlYAWzcWkSguxSiEggI83Nb5hhYby42PDb12M3h-gMuAIspvrL-u9SgD3qYkQQqzqblTd2HrgzWa-4U-Z56jOQmISqOn71DHfxZGO9eHh2gIUTC2LObb3fo2GPJ5qr1ZT0EK4Mac/s400/election3.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyoSaRnaI8f30mkztaErjuR3vMlcXC4VqpNjoJ8WoludMfeCiob3sXrVphubzw7xm1_hbiXR_jXS5K1ypDF4NE8cjGwDjsEbxc1qiw_-Mtt84T4RGQ4_VoWVcLU6hXTCTBnWcywBz87CFD/s1600/election4.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 387px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481715195764366994" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyoSaRnaI8f30mkztaErjuR3vMlcXC4VqpNjoJ8WoludMfeCiob3sXrVphubzw7xm1_hbiXR_jXS5K1ypDF4NE8cjGwDjsEbxc1qiw_-Mtt84T4RGQ4_VoWVcLU6hXTCTBnWcywBz87CFD/s400/election4.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0ezIUI9e0Fdn5tYhWCM9td0w85FNxjFjFEp76DmtIMfBswyYcS2o0pddQYB0fI0Kz_Ttrj6YZaGwMxTbnqjodyFp5FQl7cFrHIr27vCpspDZg6vYQEWL9J2V60RB7AM-WqZr7L9JO39SY/s1600/election9.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 276px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482326230796968274" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0ezIUI9e0Fdn5tYhWCM9td0w85FNxjFjFEp76DmtIMfBswyYcS2o0pddQYB0fI0Kz_Ttrj6YZaGwMxTbnqjodyFp5FQl7cFrHIr27vCpspDZg6vYQEWL9J2V60RB7AM-WqZr7L9JO39SY/s400/election9.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidAEgbreAIbFxdrQ8ATxnKJ7fSUSchOC9R2sBXjf8tlNJIsgtG-dJCszvjeSZw8Lrsvc3aPUamHYTwOaVkAgzIXsCigjGQ8CJWeGW7doUUDXYuDzaQVrRZvyf3g36RelZ0PSPX07hqGn3L/s1600/election5.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 344px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481715206664685794" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidAEgbreAIbFxdrQ8ATxnKJ7fSUSchOC9R2sBXjf8tlNJIsgtG-dJCszvjeSZw8Lrsvc3aPUamHYTwOaVkAgzIXsCigjGQ8CJWeGW7doUUDXYuDzaQVrRZvyf3g36RelZ0PSPX07hqGn3L/s400/election5.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI_VkIKri0773vHiJRiZzIC1TVOEVUOVkTqBUJnTeKVNKcNfVElSLwrqXiSRqknFE3ATdZWmBbfDBFyybZn9lhBH9F2wV542Xx0zbRpOX0lNPf_nKW9WA1vf9QHOOgHQ7pMqKfmylRIPYD/s1600/election7.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 369px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481716741743073250" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI_VkIKri0773vHiJRiZzIC1TVOEVUOVkTqBUJnTeKVNKcNfVElSLwrqXiSRqknFE3ATdZWmBbfDBFyybZn9lhBH9F2wV542Xx0zbRpOX0lNPf_nKW9WA1vf9QHOOgHQ7pMqKfmylRIPYD/s400/election7.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEglrNfRioVX-rNk6KS0q_3Hn4WrBa1W1T2PpKw2hyg1BxpReY-Yt_uQtsue-BpEH7kUuhk2c4YcrT_ygbZZQuWe3ePws9WUJfdbfwPLXRojgxTz2Uw3wEvC3dxIH0kLB83DdyoUH4xXZ7/s1600/election6.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 250px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481716736520798322" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEglrNfRioVX-rNk6KS0q_3Hn4WrBa1W1T2PpKw2hyg1BxpReY-Yt_uQtsue-BpEH7kUuhk2c4YcrT_ygbZZQuWe3ePws9WUJfdbfwPLXRojgxTz2Uw3wEvC3dxIH0kLB83DdyoUH4xXZ7/s400/election6.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWGXWalAgP7fc1AoLrL21HpiZWnfYRW4miaMe3_Dsk8ZhIg7iCWOQE8yj5hyphenhyphenrT5GyVBCCVX2lhGDeU0kqwXKcwShL8LWX61uZOBdWtYeX9F-gEjUdAMiELI4xG_KU3wsr7v_nlekhPwCXm/s1600/election2.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 304px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481715184714664338" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWGXWalAgP7fc1AoLrL21HpiZWnfYRW4miaMe3_Dsk8ZhIg7iCWOQE8yj5hyphenhyphenrT5GyVBCCVX2lhGDeU0kqwXKcwShL8LWX61uZOBdWtYeX9F-gEjUdAMiELI4xG_KU3wsr7v_nlekhPwCXm/s400/election2.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHXV5f3P6aWeVGDt80-akaxLFwrLiYFuSa_c2oyydTUkfmFtXRo57Lkm0iyJARh5hNQoOCHP4xkiSETFbR3S0evbyHrEUiRvcUBc7OjGP-vND8pVO_5HMzSLLRvGYvYT8w9cjnFu707Zjb/s1600/PresSamuel.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 316px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481695812623616114" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHXV5f3P6aWeVGDt80-akaxLFwrLiYFuSa_c2oyydTUkfmFtXRo57Lkm0iyJARh5hNQoOCHP4xkiSETFbR3S0evbyHrEUiRvcUBc7OjGP-vND8pVO_5HMzSLLRvGYvYT8w9cjnFu707Zjb/s400/PresSamuel.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijcFVW15luAI-Yqcieq9wh71mIglydmLezS3cGYNabr_gmgyki8UonpnD1LwEKsAGlUO_EO1mjn1ogkiJmXh9uUfXYX8AQSR58yTR882gdJ4Xy2NLEO7MovRjh9Yy_W1egPutjbv01_nJU/s1600/Pres+and+VP.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 246px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481695799337672626" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijcFVW15luAI-Yqcieq9wh71mIglydmLezS3cGYNabr_gmgyki8UonpnD1LwEKsAGlUO_EO1mjn1ogkiJmXh9uUfXYX8AQSR58yTR882gdJ4Xy2NLEO7MovRjh9Yy_W1egPutjbv01_nJU/s400/Pres+and+VP.jpg" /></a><br /><br />The excitement was almost too much for some people. Some just remained on the fence. Others started ANOTHER thread about Ron Paul in the "Politics and Government" subforum.<br /><br /><a href="http://icanhascheezburger.com/2008/10/05/funny-pictures-iz-onna-fence/"><img class="mine_1895087" title="funny-pictures-unpolitical-cat-is-on-a-fence" alt="cat" src="http://icanhascheezburger.wordpress.com/files/2008/10/funny-pictures-unpolitical-cat-is-on-a-fence.jpg" /></a><br /></p><p><span style="color:#3333ff;"><strong>Raquelle</strong></span><br /><strong>Lowlight</strong>: I was dancing a (crowded) version of Road To Spencer when suddenly pandemonium ensued. The dancing stopped! Popping and hissing noised filled the air! What the CLUNGE??????????????<br /><br />Oooooh, those horrible finkish guys! Silly string? They DARED to interrupt a FORMAL DANCE with SILLY STRING????<br /><br />Let's be clear. I have it on good authority who thought this up. Take a good hard look at him. Emily and Trisha, next year you know who to go after, okay? Stop holding me up for chocolate and pick on this character:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOhc_aGxsY7Gklxzr8RAzNV3EBwOXZ1-qLzmw6xN_LJ1hkADhLRIkBzocXF9FNzaZms3MzZA7o4pjp4oZ_O408Dis39EE8EY_CWcmTXbx0tVTP-RlkQmzRCsYzweZdNlnRvg5qwaz6TZwF/s1600/dustin.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482327113725933458" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOhc_aGxsY7Gklxzr8RAzNV3EBwOXZ1-qLzmw6xN_LJ1hkADhLRIkBzocXF9FNzaZms3MzZA7o4pjp4oZ_O408Dis39EE8EY_CWcmTXbx0tVTP-RlkQmzRCsYzweZdNlnRvg5qwaz6TZwF/s400/dustin.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://cheezburger.com/View/539269376"><img id="_r_a_539269376" title="Ur daiz...dey is numbrd n I not knoe dat many numbrz" alt="Ur daiz...dey is numbrd n I not knoe dat many numbrz" src="http://images.icanhascheezburger.com/completestore/2008/4/29/urdaizdeyis128539642773437500.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><strong>Item:</strong> I was in a "parable" skit once where I was the designated Victim Of Unkindness, manifested in nearly an entire can of silly string being sprayed all over me at close range. This made me feel like an old pro at the stuff. Drawing upon this pro experience--and also being serendipitously close to the open door--I simply whisked up my skirts and vanished outside. Poof. Nyah nyah nyah, missed me, missed me!!! Thbthbthbthb!!!!<br /><br />:iz smug:<br /><br />I know the guys are dying for a reaction, so I refuse to give them one. I mean, any more than I already have. All I gotta say is, if you try it next year, for the sake of the silly string dust that gets caught in one's HAIR and on one's RUFFLES, save it for the practice dance not the real one. No really, okay? For the other girls, I mean. Remember, it MISSED ME. Nyah nyah nyah, missed me, missed me! Thbthbthtbthb!!!!!<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Wasn't it funny that the GUYS then had to spend the next 15 minutes sweeping up the mess they made? :D<br /><br /><a href="http://icanhascheezburger.com/2010/03/24/funny-pictures-lik-pasketti/"><img title="funny-pictures-cat-tastes-string" alt="funny pictures of cats with captions" src="http://icanhascheezburger.files.wordpress.com/2010/03/funny-pictures-cat-tastes-string.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><span style="color:#cc0000;"><strong>Heather:</strong></span> Alright, Blog Hog, let somebody else get a word in edgewise. Or even lengthwise.<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> At the break in Road to Spencer, while the guys were cleaning up, the youngest Ferrar girl came over and emphatically reminded me that I had PROMISED to dance with her and it was now TIME. So, um, I did the second round of Road to Spencer with her. :D<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> While waiting for Road to Spencer to start again, Little Miss Ferrar pointing to every unattached gentleman and saying, "Go tell that man to dance with my sister." It's nice to know that when I retire from bossing the world, there will be someone to take my place. :D<br /><br /><span style="color:#3366ff;"><strong>Raquelle:</strong></span><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Calling dances and BOSSING TEH VORLD!!!<br /><br /><span style="color:#cc0000;"><strong>Heather:</strong></span> Waitwaitwait, that's MY JOB. But you can help. :iz magnanimous:<br /><br /><strong><span style="color:#3333ff;">Raquelle</span>:</strong> :ignores Heather:<br /><br /><strong>Highlight</strong>: Did I mention my deliciously foofy dress?<br /><br /><strong>Lowlight:</strong> Losing my balance and stepping backward on my deliciously foofy dress and tearing a big dangling gash in the netting layers. :sigh:<br /><br /><strong>Highlight</strong>: I had half-expected such a thing, knowing both the nature of the fabric and the nature of myself. So (naturally) I brought a Very Thorough Sewing Kit with me. Foisting the calling of the Virginia Reel off onto Heather, I whisked into the girl's dorm. With some help from Emily, who happened to be on hand, I tacked the tear back together. Thanks Emily! But really, you owed me, after beating me up for my chocolate.<br /><br /><strong>Highlight</strong>: Emily and I ate some MORE chocolate.<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> My makeshift fix worked beautifully and the tear didn't show.<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> I whisked back into the dance hall and caught most of the Reel with Nate F.<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> HSAers are cool. Thanks to all of you who graciously danced with the trio of "younger sister" Ferrar girls.<br /><br /><strong>Lowlight:</strong> The last dance. *sniff*<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Hanging around jabbering forever and a day.<br /><br /><strong>Lowlight:</strong> Going back to the dorm, trying to get organized in my MESS. Hey, that's how this day started....<br /><br /><strong>Lowlight</strong>: I had KP the next morning, which would cut into packing time.<br /><br /><strong>Lowlight:</strong> After wandering around aimlessly in the dorm trying to brush my teeth, find my slippers, and eat a snack, I finally made it to bed around 2:00 a.m.<br /><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc0000;">Heather:</span></strong> I didn't bother with any such nonesense as trying to get organized in the dorm. I just threw on some comfy clothes and wandered down to yak with whoever was on the patio. Raquelle kept popping down and saying, "HEATHER! It's time for BED!" But hey, it was the last night so I figured I'd just stay up as late as I wanted and sleep in the car on the way home. So I did.<br /><br />End of day: Crashed into bed at 2 a.m.<br /><br /><a href="http://icanhascheezburger.com/2007/08/22/i-iz-dun-absoluteleh-dun/"><img alt="128294130261407500iizdunab.jpg" src="http://icanhascheezburger.wordpress.com/files/2007/08/128294130261407500iizdunab.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><em>Stay tuned for Wednesday...........maybe.</em> </p>Heather Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03350882971891496288noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3244533696111728633.post-7250459940218176332010-05-30T17:57:00.000-07:002010-05-31T18:47:19.907-07:00TENNESSEE GATHERING, DAY 2<span style="color:#000099;"><strong>Raquelle:</strong></span><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> The dorms this year were carpeted, which GREATLY reduced the noise when all those weird get-up-at-5:00 a.m. people bounced out of bed. I dozed till 8:00 and then wearily began the process of trying to organize myself, find clean clothes, iron them, and get cleaned up for the day.<br /><br /><span style="color:#cc0000;"><strong>Heather:</strong></span><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> I woke up around six, I think, because I could hear people stirring. But I didn't mind watching the trees out the window get sunnier and sunnier as the sun came up. Lying on the top bunk has its advantages.<br /><br /><a href="http://cheezburger.com/View/1655465216"><img id="_r_a_1655465216" title="Beige...I think I" alt="Beige...I think I" src="http://images.icanhascheezburger.com/completestore/2009/1/26/128774570019965999.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Taking a shower. Last year, the facility's showers were... er... primitive, let us say. This year's bathrooms were a Great Improvement. For one thing, I could put my clothes and towel on something other than the shower floor.<br /><br /><a href="http://cheezburger.com/View/2464717056"><img id="_r_a_2464717056" title="I SUPPOSE U WANTS MEH TO MOVE" alt="I SUPPOSE U WANTS MEH TO MOVE" src="http://images.cheezburger.com/completestore/2009/7/27/128932158366972384.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> NOT ironing my clothes. Why would I want to bother with that? Don't ask me why Raquelle wanted to waste her twilight years ironing clothes when she could be whooping it up with friends.<br /><br /><span style="color:#000099;"><strong>Raquelle:</strong></span> My twilight YEARS? What am I, some kind of old FOGEY????<br /><br />Of course I ironed my clothes. You think I want to go around looking like my clothes were stored in a plastic Easter egg???<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> I brought an iron. :smug:<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> I brought an ironing board. :smug smug:<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Sara G made sweet remarks about my hair looking as good when I get up as when I go to bed. Sara is currently in my "Top 5" list of friends.<br /><br /><span style="color:#ff0000;"><strong>Heather:</strong></span> That's cuz of all that glue you put in your hair so it doesn't move.<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Meandering over to the dining hall and taking pictures of people who seemed to be considering waking up. Some of them actually didn't wake up till after breakfast, I think - judging from appearances anyway.<br /><br /><br /><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGSBWzjqs6wgKdIx8Um1EKNhRyBVg0cub7blCbjoboXR7xbyxMm0KQvFZxDBmdyBEyWYp_PJR-sih2d-UdvvZc18U6WnS-2zG7CEk5PIFcUX3FnevOcjsx8FJe-AtdRxN4N9ZKJEOCD4kr/s1600/waking-up.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 363px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477478624242562114" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGSBWzjqs6wgKdIx8Um1EKNhRyBVg0cub7blCbjoboXR7xbyxMm0KQvFZxDBmdyBEyWYp_PJR-sih2d-UdvvZc18U6WnS-2zG7CEk5PIFcUX3FnevOcjsx8FJe-AtdRxN4N9ZKJEOCD4kr/s400/waking-up.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://cheezburger.com/View/3172753152"><img id="_r_a_3172753152" title="What? Like you look all spiffy" alt="What? Like you look all spiffy" src="http://images.cheezburger.com/completestore/2010/2/9/129101965678904709.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><strong><span style="color:#000099;">Raquelle:<br /></span>Highlight:</strong> Chatting with friends at breakfast.<br /><br /><span style="color:#ff0000;"><strong>Heather:</strong><br /></span><strong>Highlight:</strong> Breakfast.*<br /><br />*Note the difference in our highlights. I am into the essentials of life. Food comes first.<br /><br /><strong><span style="color:#000099;">Raquelle:</span></strong> Neeener, neener, I'm not so shallow. PEOPLE come first. *preen*<br /><br /><span style="color:#ff0000;"><strong>Heather:</strong></span> Yer gonna be hungry.<br /><br /><span style="color:#000099;"><strong>Raquelle:</strong></span> Yer gonna be LONELY. And SINGLE. *snert*<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Singing songs after breakfast.<br /><br /><strong><span style="color:#ff0000;">Heather:</span></strong><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Getting my KP lunch orders from Commander Miss Debi after breakfast. Since I was in charge of my KP team, she wanted me to know what was being planned for lunch. She and Miss Melanie had to go to the store so I would need to get things started in their absence.<br /><br /><strong>Double Highlight</strong>: Lydia offering to help me with KP since I didn't yet know where everything was in the kitchen. She and I made a Highly Organized List of Things To Do while folks were singing in the dining hall.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwl5hrTr8fWZmTYXt2r5JufuoBpP2CYstrwHGsTgW-TqJeBUvlxGAsWx-B4inM59vwualmCHuA23lfbr8SI6LTBSzBAm_fJDM46gCBDa6tzs35n_rjERPS6jGhLAF3lV6iUgTQaIH5LWfV/s1600/macaroni-1.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 357px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477609682629169938" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwl5hrTr8fWZmTYXt2r5JufuoBpP2CYstrwHGsTgW-TqJeBUvlxGAsWx-B4inM59vwualmCHuA23lfbr8SI6LTBSzBAm_fJDM46gCBDa6tzs35n_rjERPS6jGhLAF3lV6iUgTQaIH5LWfV/s400/macaroni-1.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk0jNnr04drSyvlPTsA9QubZYgslfm4ax0wModPVehXXMbYZ6xIKbUczyLcJgK6x1uko248kw5WHOpvr7xZUN2DmdfGAopzTNEbvhMWUXG0a2DMGzdMX262EV0Z1muEfNnjJR9rkbXAnUD/s1600/macaron-2.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 363px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477609679422284850" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk0jNnr04drSyvlPTsA9QubZYgslfm4ax0wModPVehXXMbYZ6xIKbUczyLcJgK6x1uko248kw5WHOpvr7xZUN2DmdfGAopzTNEbvhMWUXG0a2DMGzdMX262EV0Z1muEfNnjJR9rkbXAnUD/s400/macaron-2.jpg" /></a><br /><br />Side note: I LOVED all the music at the TN Gathering this year!<br /><br /><a href="http://cheezburger.com/View/2756534528"><img id="_r_a_2756534528" title="doh" alt="doh" src="http://images.cheezburger.com/completestore/2009/10/23/129008244035906679.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><strong><span style="color:#000099;">Raquelle:</span></strong><br /><strong>Lowlight:</strong> Mom and Dad had no cell phone reception at the Inn, so we couldn't call and say hi.<br /><br /><strong>Lowlight:</strong> Not only could we not say hi, but I couldn't instruct them to bring the VAN instead of the CAR for the dance. In the processes of unloading the Disastrous Van in the dark last night, several things were left behind, including my dance cue cards with my notes on them and my thnuggly navy thweater.<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> There was a PHONE in the DINING HALL. And it had the phone number for the INN listed. COOL!<br /><br /><strong>Lowlight</strong>: It was a durn pay phone. But there was nothing about how MUCH it cost. Heather and I looked it all over, up and down, and couldn't figure out how much money to put in.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGF7stz_O1bCJqMDjCLb2KXvoZ7oKaLsABvVykoAsg1tCSczmhpWELPpaL3cbFOvrUFoyuDEFKS2mceN__-s5nDwWnBAxpmeCuvLN_oN-SMtCNnXYrODcwaK-e0nStEcl8jOCU_zxisFq8/s1600/Phone+booth1-1.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 318px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477485484110057538" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGF7stz_O1bCJqMDjCLb2KXvoZ7oKaLsABvVykoAsg1tCSczmhpWELPpaL3cbFOvrUFoyuDEFKS2mceN__-s5nDwWnBAxpmeCuvLN_oN-SMtCNnXYrODcwaK-e0nStEcl8jOCU_zxisFq8/s400/Phone+booth1-1.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ8psAlh9-osaFtajapW3fvZ_CzJBzbeC5Qdg9IxWTpbLvvOVao1V29DEhq3uxdCcSI1LTxHSv-vE877FI8fZDx7D_bKby4vHAT5hN8uzamRD0V83MrChrdI-w4Mg2YN-FV1LwZUZQ-2Bv/s1600/Phone+Booth+2-2.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 386px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477485470954644514" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ8psAlh9-osaFtajapW3fvZ_CzJBzbeC5Qdg9IxWTpbLvvOVao1V29DEhq3uxdCcSI1LTxHSv-vE877FI8fZDx7D_bKby4vHAT5hN8uzamRD0V83MrChrdI-w4Mg2YN-FV1LwZUZQ-2Bv/s400/Phone+Booth+2-2.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzCWPv-pGCzLZZHkYhP-XTo05cVKErySW1B0wpE2kjXcR0FDVYoE7F3kOxRAHrUzMTmj99sgUKVajjYlywBnYqPLtsze_VacAbAHGB089ZW3hQLdv70LWbx6zjE0xzv_0bsjn4TDfy75rd/s1600/Phone+Booth+3-3.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 294px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477485460386557202" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzCWPv-pGCzLZZHkYhP-XTo05cVKErySW1B0wpE2kjXcR0FDVYoE7F3kOxRAHrUzMTmj99sgUKVajjYlywBnYqPLtsze_VacAbAHGB089ZW3hQLdv70LWbx6zjE0xzv_0bsjn4TDfy75rd/s400/Phone+Booth+3-3.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyVYE6Wi64YIu_DNxiWvhuQi9ftx9TtZEERVE_04ujr92q6oEYxT-VAgQo9orp-QxytP-wAApBWnFq9VsFiL6hQRmCov8bsPwszilTDNPpQ2tRAjCEnRhtK5Mz-k7QLWf_m9tVDe43CQgT/s1600/Phone+Booth+4-4.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 394px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477485452570922594" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyVYE6Wi64YIu_DNxiWvhuQi9ftx9TtZEERVE_04ujr92q6oEYxT-VAgQo9orp-QxytP-wAApBWnFq9VsFiL6hQRmCov8bsPwszilTDNPpQ2tRAjCEnRhtK5Mz-k7QLWf_m9tVDe43CQgT/s400/Phone+Booth+4-4.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> I'm no dummy. I iz kollidge edjoocated. I iz schmart. Newsflash! After half an hour of wrangling with the phone it occurred to me..............uh, <strong><em>I</em></strong> have cell phone reception. Why can't I use MY phone to the INN?<br /><br />Epic duh.<br /><br />*cough*<br /><br />So much fer mah kollidge edjoocation.<br /><br /><a href="http://cheezburger.com/View/2830434304"><img id="_r_a_2830434304" title="Your stupidity is blinding" alt="Your stupidity is blinding" src="http://images.cheezburger.com/completestore/2009/11/11/129024536531374681.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Calling Mom and Dad and saying hi and confirming what time the dancing would start that night and telling them I really needed my thnuggly navy thweater.<br /><br /><strong>Highlight</strong>: The weather was delightful. Jason S. pointedly informed me that I had to play softball this year. I declined firmly, on the grounds that I've had way too much surgery done on my mouth and teeth to be interested in any game that involves rapidly hurtling projectiles. I'm dead serious. I could probably top anyone here with dental horror stories, including jaw surgery, gum surgery and reshaping multiple times, a dental implant, and wisdom teeth out, plus five years of braces. Ten years of torture to be jeopardized in a softball game? Jason was clearly unconvinced. Jason probably was born with straight teeth, what does he know?????<br /><br />He tried to help me change my mind....some of the guys were tossing a ball around on the patio and he threw it to me. I dramatically shrieked and ducked and made a great show of not catching the ball and throwing it back badly. He didn't bug me anymore after that. *snicker*<br /><br /><strong>Lowlight</strong>: Most people took off to go do sports. Yawn. Remember what I just said about rapidly hurtling projectiles? I stayed back at the dining hall.<br /><br /><span style="color:#ff0000;"><strong>Heather:</strong></span> I'm not afraid of rapidly hurtling projectiles. I just rapidly hurtle them back.<br /><br /><span style="color:#000099;"><strong>Raquelle:</strong></span> Yeah, but you ain't been through what I been through. *looks martyrish*<br /><br /><strong><span style="color:#ff0000;">Heather</span>:<br />Highlight:</strong> Chatting with Jill.<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Riding with Jill up to the softball field.<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Chatting with a bunch of people including, but not limited to, Jill, Mrs. Ferrar, and Michaela.<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Riding back to the lodge in the back of somebody's car with Jason, Allison, and Helena.<br /><br /><a href="http://cheezburger.com/View/444044032"><img id="_r_a_444044032" title="i think we ran over somethin" alt="i think we ran over somethin" src="http://images.icanhascheezburger.com/completestore/2008/3/30/ithinkwerano128513713978750000.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><strong>Lowlight:</strong> Being videoed by Jason while feeling carsick. I think I sounded particularly dimwitted in that video. Ah well, such things happen when you can't get away from the paparrazi.<br /><br /><strong><span style="color:#000099;">Raquelle:<br /></span>Highlight:</strong> Several other people weren't interested in sports right then and we had a rip-roaring good game of Mexican Train. That's a domino game, for those of you unfortunates who are in ignorance.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfa1fpAYmJPTGS8kU4YJBMcSp3BhlYk-vsmI0hPmZl8dqzKE4HxTAyBwvvrsSCF8dlRSt28q56jbP7ZeLFL1LrZniNoSdhsluxz7hDf0eWRukrMRLeEqe4vWz7XFS-aC7w86LaOPozrN4b/s1600/eat-it-josh.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477455933536231874" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfa1fpAYmJPTGS8kU4YJBMcSp3BhlYk-vsmI0hPmZl8dqzKE4HxTAyBwvvrsSCF8dlRSt28q56jbP7ZeLFL1LrZniNoSdhsluxz7hDf0eWRukrMRLeEqe4vWz7XFS-aC7w86LaOPozrN4b/s400/eat-it-josh.jpg" /></a><br /><br />I believe some card games went on also.<br /><br /><a href="http://cheezburger.com/View/1956281088"><img id="_r_a_1956281088" title="Tell you what..." alt="Tell you what..." src="http://images.icanhascheezburger.com/completestore/2009/3/31/128830215199769151.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Plugging our iPods, Zunes and cheapy-off-brand-MP3 players (like mine) into the big speaker and listening to the High Kings CD and other fun stuff. Sonia let me listen to some sound clips of the stuff she had planned for the dancing. Me and Sonia had fun plotting. Sonia did most of the work though. :D<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrftyYpYiFTowDmKuoyT9ksax6RQiS11hCsDuWtkgLttQaongdecUtFcMwR_cDzBWI78I5mwN2GoiQkz68sApZnrRR1gdId_-GWLLrtgxIPF6R8k14BKuRYCFBBN4J_v_9tvNT2df9sa55/s1600/IMG_0987.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477469075672141762" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrftyYpYiFTowDmKuoyT9ksax6RQiS11hCsDuWtkgLttQaongdecUtFcMwR_cDzBWI78I5mwN2GoiQkz68sApZnrRR1gdId_-GWLLrtgxIPF6R8k14BKuRYCFBBN4J_v_9tvNT2df9sa55/s400/IMG_0987.JPG" /></a><br /><strong>Lowlight:</strong> I was on KP duty that afternoon. With my BOSSY BIG SISTER as KP leader! OH NOES!!!!!!!!!!<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> It turned out to be a blast. It was hard work to tie Heather up and gag her and throw her in a cage in the pantry, but it worked pretty well and kept her out of everyone's hair.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1uonmkElhh01pEnCeN0v7wXmT2YV6KdY08MqyB-oj1KfovC83-PMDEIQDdIYvJbF2NjfQDWjxer0UQ7aSgJoFp2oohZe3w-zyDfwKLyoXUzFBujDYwdw4-fHk2psUegzgV7gwqmbmp7Q2/s1600/werld-dominashun-1.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477477492251930226" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1uonmkElhh01pEnCeN0v7wXmT2YV6KdY08MqyB-oj1KfovC83-PMDEIQDdIYvJbF2NjfQDWjxer0UQ7aSgJoFp2oohZe3w-zyDfwKLyoXUzFBujDYwdw4-fHk2psUegzgV7gwqmbmp7Q2/s400/werld-dominashun-1.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR6T15AwVATaVaSAiJBhyphenhyphen4_Fd1r0goxH4cwlfG4wEHnzcFzZOp8rNQmUjuOSYtEhLijg3szjKAk0FbZhH5viv_suRHuOfYunwAm_wuwqcxd8M96ueYdWmUVFG52zwdAt-XjhL3LCkdXd6T/s1600/werld-dominashun-2.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477477498814319762" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR6T15AwVATaVaSAiJBhyphenhyphen4_Fd1r0goxH4cwlfG4wEHnzcFzZOp8rNQmUjuOSYtEhLijg3szjKAk0FbZhH5viv_suRHuOfYunwAm_wuwqcxd8M96ueYdWmUVFG52zwdAt-XjhL3LCkdXd6T/s400/werld-dominashun-2.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><span style="color:#ff0000;"><strong>Heather:</strong></span> Wait, wait, WAIT! We interrupt this program with the Official Version from the KP Group Leader: ME.<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Hollering at my KP team on the softball field and telling them it was time to go back.<br /><br /><strong>Lowlight:</strong> Greg (on my team) stalking up to me and announcing, "I quit." Bah, first day on the job and he's already flaking out.<br /><br />(Side note: He had a good reason - he was basically having to cook all his own meals already.)<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Swaggering into the kitchen and laying out The Plan with Lydia. "Let's see, we'll cut up the Eye of Newt Soup over here and the boil the bat's wings over there..."<br /><br /><strong>Lowlight:</strong> Jason coolly informing me that he didn't have to do anything I told him.<br /><br /><a href="http://cheezburger.com/View/2886172160"><img id="_r_a_2886172160" title="nhhh! to you 2 (sutpid kid)" alt="nhhh! to you 2 (sutpid kid)" src="http://images.cheezburger.com/completestore/2009/11/25/129036811015019812.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Getting out a broom and watching Jason capitulate.<br /><br /><a href="http://cheezburger.com/View/3538486272"><img id="_r_a_3538486272" title="Lesson 37: It takes 42 muscles to frown, and only 4 muscles to reach out and smack you" alt="Lesson 37: It takes 42 muscles to frown, and only 4 muscles to reach out and smack you" src="http://images.cheezburger.com/completestore/2010/5/18/129186713333532650.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> I HAVE AN AWESOME KP TEAM. So there.<br /><br /><a href="http://cheezburger.com/View/2853367552"><img id="_r_a_2853367552" title="u ABSOWUTEWY shur bout dat?" alt="u ABSOWUTEWY shur bout dat?" src="http://images.cheezburger.com/completestore/2009/11/17/129029654530437376.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><strong><span style="color:#000099;">Raquelle:</span></strong><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Daniel P. and I were on sandwich-making duty and made OUR tray faster than the OTHER group, who were cutting their sandwiches into picturesque precision triangles.<br /><br /><strong>Lowlight:</strong> The picturesque precision triangle sandwiches disappeared first at lunchtime. Maybe there's something in asthetics after all...............<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Being on the food prep team meant I was NOT on the food clean-up team.<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Lunch!<br /><br /><a href="http://cheezburger.com/View/2999980288"><img id="_r_a_2999980288" title="Yah... I ate your whole pie... SO WHAT!?" alt="Yah... I ate your whole pie... SO WHAT!?" src="http://images.cheezburger.com/completestore/2009/12/27/129064224817314345.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><strong>Lowlight</strong>: TRYING to get people sitting in ROWS at the table to SIGN the CARD for JASON (who is deploying soon) and PASS IT to the NEXT PERSON. Not that hard. In a line? Send it down the line. Easy peasy. But nooooooooo. Homeschoolers just don't do lines. It was an utterly foreign concept and docked routinely one person at a time. I had to leap up and pound the table like a drill sergeant and made a scene every thirty seconds. Er, something like that. It was pretty pathetic.<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> FINALLY getting the card signed.<br /><br /><strong>Lowlight</strong>: Almost everyone ran off to play more sports.<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Half a dozen of us stayed behind and had a Fabulously Fun Time in the kitchen making cookies and brownies. The mixer was an ancient rusty dinosaur that we were all reluctant to use, not having a strong desire to add extra iron to our diets.<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> In a most fortuitous set of circumstances, Nate F. stayed behind to help with the cookie making. I don't know if he was bribed, badgered, threatened or volunteered out of the goodness of his heart, but any rate, we put him to work! Beating up multiple sticks of butter, six cups of oats, three cups of flour, and eleven cups of caffeine by hand is no joke. Thanks Nate!<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> We had a royally raucous time in the kitchen!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2vviNSFA9fb807BPnTgG2Y44ZIzQrzbo7mAJCBcMSszu75qSAE13PihMriHjXRbWas26ow7TQBFGlepDDdU7ajIXPTe-gJ6DT2KtI0gaLlpNwL5BBxEl7Qd4cCOgmhUslVRSfMNu48VvR/s1600/espresso-beans.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477469043479333266" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2vviNSFA9fb807BPnTgG2Y44ZIzQrzbo7mAJCBcMSszu75qSAE13PihMriHjXRbWas26ow7TQBFGlepDDdU7ajIXPTe-gJ6DT2KtI0gaLlpNwL5BBxEl7Qd4cCOgmhUslVRSfMNu48VvR/s400/espresso-beans.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXkHQkKkAAzT6DmlorZiu8k9E-04PW1YFxEYzbXTa6ucCiuo-UEOXFwu-7No7cWcJhWZc3R0FjBsMOrMTeWf7XRcMUfHt3e-cVvg7bfQWLgBUom2PBcEmlzTthOf0zHaXMuRgY3OhLLYw7/s1600/espresso-beans-2.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477469033524621762" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXkHQkKkAAzT6DmlorZiu8k9E-04PW1YFxEYzbXTa6ucCiuo-UEOXFwu-7No7cWcJhWZc3R0FjBsMOrMTeWf7XRcMUfHt3e-cVvg7bfQWLgBUom2PBcEmlzTthOf0zHaXMuRgY3OhLLYw7/s400/espresso-beans-2.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://cheezburger.com/View/2698962944"><img id="_r_a_2698962944" title="The Expresso just kicked in!!!" alt="The Expresso just kicked in!!!" src="http://images.cheezburger.com/completestore/2009/10/7/128994446214908460.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghpcBSdELL3p5mnb6XK390Xtm9gXuGj6QnW_HYuCdD1o0O7d2qWUIurAPHrEOhcqnxcLVI1RIsR4CfNFPWJqfrq90-XPrYOcLxINpUgjtJKmuCOFIgI85a5MTUCdRkuMwNIuQlT4KME44b/s1600/10-sec-rule.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477455894332023490" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghpcBSdELL3p5mnb6XK390Xtm9gXuGj6QnW_HYuCdD1o0O7d2qWUIurAPHrEOhcqnxcLVI1RIsR4CfNFPWJqfrq90-XPrYOcLxINpUgjtJKmuCOFIgI85a5MTUCdRkuMwNIuQlT4KME44b/s400/10-sec-rule.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><strong>Lowlight:</strong> The kitchen was under-equipped in the form of oven mitts to remove giant hot trays of cookies.<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> We palmed that job off on Nate too.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ7-QYiLCNEmlzqEi97sFWjb_k1ccrgArPc7A2x4j2FkSYflNas2mwi6CLadsuxkNahYbXfrgnvMOiizM5WibCqazmgXR4b3rvgCag1lFZkcDTdiXD_FZt3XH2CUc6ZtVdTq8YFQuTX7IS/s1600/cookie-1.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 348px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477455903443724562" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ7-QYiLCNEmlzqEi97sFWjb_k1ccrgArPc7A2x4j2FkSYflNas2mwi6CLadsuxkNahYbXfrgnvMOiizM5WibCqazmgXR4b3rvgCag1lFZkcDTdiXD_FZt3XH2CUc6ZtVdTq8YFQuTX7IS/s400/cookie-1.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinKH8DtA9YVq-Vt2BmS7T0g8C-OUTXEvwejJi3RU1-lQd29ZfICeyYn3qahyphenhyphenphpw7hMBlurnzANtoqL6IjKPnZN_artwLT8zFsCdw6Mbi6ZsX6NbFF8A2ZpaiHbj8z47hyphenhyphenwnFcqcUsWmm8/s1600/cookie-2.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 334px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477455910877412098" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinKH8DtA9YVq-Vt2BmS7T0g8C-OUTXEvwejJi3RU1-lQd29ZfICeyYn3qahyphenhyphenphpw7hMBlurnzANtoqL6IjKPnZN_artwLT8zFsCdw6Mbi6ZsX6NbFF8A2ZpaiHbj8z47hyphenhyphenwnFcqcUsWmm8/s400/cookie-2.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7BEWpJjqHHRkAdvotU7kXCGTdKlwJalh0DT4sN95f9AfhUyiQrJ7k6kD8_SNUdLZf9ePnMrN5NjEW8IBpghkj-rKaDrzxR-Xk4CG8RufChjiOz8DLwLCcSZqj6gx7Uns-e3nhnuDIOfCU/s1600/cookie-3.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 329px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477455923842176178" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7BEWpJjqHHRkAdvotU7kXCGTdKlwJalh0DT4sN95f9AfhUyiQrJ7k6kD8_SNUdLZf9ePnMrN5NjEW8IBpghkj-rKaDrzxR-Xk4CG8RufChjiOz8DLwLCcSZqj6gx7Uns-e3nhnuDIOfCU/s400/cookie-3.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br />In the absence of timers, we took turns poking our noses into the oven and saying, "Nope, not done yet," every five minutes. And then we got bored with THAT and started clowning around.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIkmgdFo0Cc9bh2i6wzR3oeWoZDw7YGW5kChYa1DPoE-f0BbHqL89ahUxIoEjP15iILbUryUU7TbJ72xNfx_B88v50kTJ7mGWe5M9D_itTkXXWPCx1urO3qomhVXkjk67HRpYwltlS8ShS/s1600/IMG_0979.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 308px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477469070280105362" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIkmgdFo0Cc9bh2i6wzR3oeWoZDw7YGW5kChYa1DPoE-f0BbHqL89ahUxIoEjP15iILbUryUU7TbJ72xNfx_B88v50kTJ7mGWe5M9D_itTkXXWPCx1urO3qomhVXkjk67HRpYwltlS8ShS/s400/IMG_0979.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://cheezburger.com/View/839698688"><img id="_r_a_839698688" title="i.i.i..c.c.a.a.n.n...h.h.ha.a.a.s.s.s. ch.ch.chee..ee.ee.zz.z.bb.u.rrg.g.er.r." alt="i.i.i..c.c.a.a.n.n...h.h.ha.a.a.s.s.s. ch.ch.chee..ee.ee.zz.z.bb.u.rrg.g.er.r." src="http://images.icanhascheezburger.com/completestore/2008/7/27/iiiccaan128616653825695824.jpg" /></a><br /><br />And then we got bored with THAT and went out to the dining hall to teach Joy Gardner some basics of ECD.<br /><br />By the way, I got a kick out of Alaina, who was helping make cookies. Her T-shirt was one of the funniest I've seen. On the front it said, "Let's eat Grandma" vs. "Let's eat, Grandma." On the back it warned solemnly, "Punctuation saves lives." Haw haw!<br /><br /><strong><span style="color:#ff0000;">Heather:<br /></span>Highlight:</strong> I took a NAP. It was lovely.<br /><br /><a href="http://cheezburger.com/View/3005071104"><img id="_r_a_3005071104" title="I shall nap.." alt="I shall nap.." src="http://images.cheezburger.com/completestore/2009/12/28/129065420117226602.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><strong><span style="color:#000099;">Raquelle:</span></strong><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Dashing off to the dorms to put together the gift bags for the planners of the TN Gathering.<br /><br /><strong>Lowlight:</strong> Jason S. conned me into ironing his dress shirt for tonight AND tomorrow. For free, no less. Ain't gonna happen next year. Bah.<br /><br /><a href="http://cheezburger.com/View/3294792192"><img id="_r_a_3294792192" title="Request denied. Resubmit in 30 days for further disapproval." alt="Request denied. Resubmit in 30 days for further disapproval." src="http://images.cheezburger.com/completestore/2010/3/15/129131438554479543.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzoQ-JC2l-lNrHHVjCdb1A2gZUA-JCKI1pG_PjOi4hhtowr1jAwlXiWpEP3b0vjtgNz87KigfO1gqeeA-aFhzzL0yaIgYNccYb3ZCpT1xo9eUUBGmW2x73ND72Mfqi7-TURMVawF2QN52L/s1600/hot-iron.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477469052613001778" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzoQ-JC2l-lNrHHVjCdb1A2gZUA-JCKI1pG_PjOi4hhtowr1jAwlXiWpEP3b0vjtgNz87KigfO1gqeeA-aFhzzL0yaIgYNccYb3ZCpT1xo9eUUBGmW2x73ND72Mfqi7-TURMVawF2QN52L/s400/hot-iron.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> People had contributed a lot of great stuff for the gift bags! Thanks for pitching in, y'all!<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Mom and Dad showed up. WITH the van. WITH my dance cards. WITH my thnuggly navy thweater. AND with my pwecious widdle sewing basket that I had forgotten I wanted to bring in. Are they awesome or what?<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Hangin' out with my friends and my parintz. Item: My parents are cool.<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Dinner!<br /><br /><strong>Lowlight:</strong> Nervously gobbling macaroni and keeping an eye on the line, waiting for JUST the critical moment when the line was done but the first-comers hadn't left yet.<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Getting up and embarrassing Jason S. and presenting him with a card and chocolate and well-wishes from the gang for his deployment.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhICcdnUM8qiqKEiCCc99ba4J4XDszFKRg2f76slJLKFNj0KMT1vLxX_bZjG16gohQQ3dsfd1Nbbh4CWcBv9NDxw1cOCMlJxODbCl-IhOunHs5AtXhciZ-UjOBEdzZm9YaTDuutxvYOXeJc/s1600/IMG_0991.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477486979866678978" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhICcdnUM8qiqKEiCCc99ba4J4XDszFKRg2f76slJLKFNj0KMT1vLxX_bZjG16gohQQ3dsfd1Nbbh4CWcBv9NDxw1cOCMlJxODbCl-IhOunHs5AtXhciZ-UjOBEdzZm9YaTDuutxvYOXeJc/s400/IMG_0991.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Embarrassing the planners by giving them the gift bags and a standing O!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhXT9Cy4z2FQEIUV5nusigXYn1DYSsKvXr5JY0ae0vQdNfuudjDRFdDNVMmcXeaZTWjArsZBAIRztMxsLx1_5gGdRLFEzTawmHYKBFyHpOrGkPFps8pBJUmfXG3xwP_DZm9ryt2RoeCCuS/s1600/IMG_0993.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477486990998724242" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhXT9Cy4z2FQEIUV5nusigXYn1DYSsKvXr5JY0ae0vQdNfuudjDRFdDNVMmcXeaZTWjArsZBAIRztMxsLx1_5gGdRLFEzTawmHYKBFyHpOrGkPFps8pBJUmfXG3xwP_DZm9ryt2RoeCCuS/s400/IMG_0993.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><strong>Lowlight:</strong> My macaroni was cold when I sat back down. *moment of silence*<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Daddy set up the sound system and headset mic for us. Look out world, here comes the music!!!<br /><br /><a href="http://cheezburger.com/View/2550130432"><img id="_r_a_2550130432" title="AH SED TURN IT DOUN!!!111!!!!" alt="AH SED TURN IT DOUN!!!111!!!!" src="http://images.cheezburger.com/completestore/2009/8/19/128952080797963794.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Dressing for the evening dance in our ridiculously wacky poodle skirt outfits.<br /><br /><strong>Lowlight:</strong> Trying to FIT in the infinitesimal bunk aisle with my poodle skirt on and piles of my JUNK strewn everywhere.<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Leaving the mess behind!<br /><br /><strong><span style="color:#ff0000;">Heather:</span><br />Highlight:</strong> Getting to meet Jo the Merry! She wasn't at the Gathering, but she stopped by to meet us and say hi. Now I have a real live face to put with the person I chat with on HSA!<br /><br /><strong><span style="color:#000099;">Raquelle:</span></strong><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Dance calling! I LOVE bossing the world around, haw haw!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtbmwx_TE3R4GlMLDZDDGCCJJl-OLptmUMFQNFxsZVjFF5t6RMnTcw2uCUhO-K99J4lDQTIydQw-n9UouKLMDDcjd-1x3rI6QSR5isCxgQITH_4Q4j4nR_LhNX2nN23O2mMeodlRQ3uwYP/s1600/line-up.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 304px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477478633699353922" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtbmwx_TE3R4GlMLDZDDGCCJJl-OLptmUMFQNFxsZVjFF5t6RMnTcw2uCUhO-K99J4lDQTIydQw-n9UouKLMDDcjd-1x3rI6QSR5isCxgQITH_4Q4j4nR_LhNX2nN23O2mMeodlRQ3uwYP/s400/line-up.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><strong>Lowlight:</strong> I forgot to have people switch numbers and walk through "Barbarini's Tambourine" the OTHER direction before trying the dance. Epic train wreck. Sorry guys. It's a great dance, maybe I'll call it better next year.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj29r5Mw0fgOXg04EN2BgeiklxB6ANirrmsKNMWSEBKsxL_Gg5UcmXmXuP-tpxmm1hmJq1GkmmBl8_XzrlSFKJmYsaqGYqZlhMlSriBSotxazJBz2C4OdQ2-JNtiZ0VFhZFspM6BAjWNws/s1600/train-wreck.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 317px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477478638660929026" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj29r5Mw0fgOXg04EN2BgeiklxB6ANirrmsKNMWSEBKsxL_Gg5UcmXmXuP-tpxmm1hmJq1GkmmBl8_XzrlSFKJmYsaqGYqZlhMlSriBSotxazJBz2C4OdQ2-JNtiZ0VFhZFspM6BAjWNws/s400/train-wreck.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Learning lots of new dances from Josh and Sonia!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVsec2ZFYyvl1miJMdaHWi_s48qrmu6mEbLaNDZT_eBFoxmm2xMjw-wDacUfePHrWp4FZuLnQtiuInNwF0_sae-FflQaajnwuSc8URspoo8OxIxFsdyE9lXIYExW_B9veyrgPVqVeE7nYw/s1600/tn+dance.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 369px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477605582710185378" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVsec2ZFYyvl1miJMdaHWi_s48qrmu6mEbLaNDZT_eBFoxmm2xMjw-wDacUfePHrWp4FZuLnQtiuInNwF0_sae-FflQaajnwuSc8URspoo8OxIxFsdyE9lXIYExW_B9veyrgPVqVeE7nYw/s400/tn+dance.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> The zany collection of goofy costumes! Some of us looked, er, pretty funny!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtwcf1ktEJb-cb8csychZNVhbqCPcZdvtuCWJ7FeuUaREkOBwKipLeHQQa-gOL87jkJkPkL6_LKrCUsLmcWOFmh_2JhyphenhyphenP_ZOngx5tRR4pw7WQTCe-Y0UlRGulMnnjlCBqfDSizOxiBRkUo/s1600/tn+us+and+julie.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 340px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477609670062709298" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtwcf1ktEJb-cb8csychZNVhbqCPcZdvtuCWJ7FeuUaREkOBwKipLeHQQa-gOL87jkJkPkL6_LKrCUsLmcWOFmh_2JhyphenhyphenP_ZOngx5tRR4pw7WQTCe-Y0UlRGulMnnjlCBqfDSizOxiBRkUo/s400/tn+us+and+julie.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxjqEMIHZRgADKHxnJKsNhGa-qgEYAJOEO-tXMluggOXjvWdnb9254MDcVqev-T0xM-infKzYuhNQgzKRaGT_F-0gM97fQwfcEtb2_Vok1OcI4_ULh_jZhcZ123BFEqn3-XHz_wgfgp_5q/s1600/tn+dance+2.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 278px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477608384282549298" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxjqEMIHZRgADKHxnJKsNhGa-qgEYAJOEO-tXMluggOXjvWdnb9254MDcVqev-T0xM-infKzYuhNQgzKRaGT_F-0gM97fQwfcEtb2_Vok1OcI4_ULh_jZhcZ123BFEqn3-XHz_wgfgp_5q/s400/tn+dance+2.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://cheezburger.com/View/531327232"><img id="_r_a_531327232" title="See This is how stupid U look" alt="See This is how stupid U look" src="http://images.icanhascheezburger.com/completestore/2008/4/26/seethisishow128537157257457500.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><strong>Funny moment:</strong> Dancing the "Dashing White Sergeant" with two of the youngest Ferrar girls. The very littlest one, Lydia, (age 8?) was AGHAST when we came up against a threesome that had one girl and two guys, instead of two girls and one guy.<br /><br />"There is SUPPOSED TO BE A GUY IN THE MIDDLE!" she exclaimed, appalled.<br /><br />"I know, but there were extra guys, so some of the sets ended up this way," I explained.<br /><br />She didn't buy it. What a load of malarky. "ONE OF THE GUYS SHOULD SWITCH TO THE MIDDLE," she announced flatly.<br /><br />"I can see your logic," I nodded somberly. "But I think we'll just have to go with it this time."<br /><br />Well, okay. Realizing that I too was just humoring a bunch of clueless delusionals, she pursed her lips and condescended to allow this ridiculous bending of the rules. Just this once. Clearly some people were out to lunch.<br /><br /><a href="http://cheezburger.com/View/660248832"><img id="_r_a_660248832" title="ur rediculous little opinion... has been noted" alt="ur rediculous little opinion... has been noted" src="http://images.icanhascheezburger.com/completestore/2008/6/5/urrediculousli128571901114219819.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Dancing Levi Jackson's Rag! That is my FAVORITE dance! Love it, love it!!!!<br /><br /><span style="color:#ff0000;"><strong>Heather:</strong></span><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> A muscular guy (sorry, I can't remember which one) helpfully carried our whoppin' speaker inside since Dad and Mom had already departed for the night.<br /><br /><strong>Lowlight:</strong> It was time to go to bed.<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Flopping into bed within five minutes. Did I mention the advantages of a SLEEPING BAG over sheets and blankets?<br /><br /><span style="color:#000099;"><strong>Raquelle:</strong></span><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> A nice cool shower, since dancing for four hours in muggy weather can make you sticky.<br /><strong>Lowlight:</strong> Michaela thought she found a tick on her. Everyone was full of helpful suggestions, including, but not limited to, vaseline, toothpaste, hot matches, tweezers, radiation, electrocution, solitary confinement, or jumping up and down in hysterics. "Of course," I offered, "it might just be a mole you never noticed before." As the veteran of both real tick bites (1) and imaginary tick bites (4,172) I felt very experienced in THAT area. Turned out I was right--she decided it was just a mole. *smug*<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Michaela has some great friends. We told her if it was a real tick bite and she keeled over and died, we'd eat chocolate in her honor. Sweet, ain't we?<br /><br /><a href="http://cheezburger.com/View/2808347648"><img id="_r_a_2808347648" title="FRIENDS" alt="FRIENDS" src="http://images.cheezburger.com/completestore/2009/11/6/129019727738241361.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><strong>Highlight!</strong> Bed! Ahhh! Stay tuned for Tuesday.............</p>Heather Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03350882971891496288noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3244533696111728633.post-29406294640983185002010-05-29T13:59:00.000-07:002010-05-29T18:05:32.875-07:00TENNESSEE GATHERING, DAY 1<div><strong><font color="#000099">Heather:</font></strong> Alright, I know this event started on Sunday but I'll start at the begincement for US, which was actually Thursday. Because the Sheens never do anything simple if they can make it complicated.<br /><br /><strong><font color="#cc0000">Raquelle:</font></strong> *looks melancholy* So true, so true.<br /><br /><strong><font color="#000099">Heather:</font></strong> On Thursday, we left for a Civil War reenactment in Sacramento, KY. We had a lovely time except for the heat. On Sunday afternoon, packing up was carried out in 95 degree temperatures with heavy humidity. Packing up involves taking down and putting away two tents, three canvas tent flies, 8 heavy wooden chairs, a bunch of heavy wooden tables, and sundry stools, tubs, tarps, and TONS of Civil War engineering equipment. It was MISERABLE.<br /><br /><strong><font color="#990000">Raquelle:</font> </strong>Let's be clear. Packing all this stuff up takes a minimum of two hours, even when things are going well. When things are hot and we are tired, it's worse. And the worst part of it is all the STUFF that gets FLUNG into the VAN and it becomes an EPIC disorganized JUNGLE. You could get lost in there and never make it out!<br /><br />Reenacting stuff alone is bad enough. Add it to our luggage, bedding, costumes, and sound system for the HSA reunion and..........well...........we took two cars on the trip because Dad was actually concerned about overloading the van. It was literally almost to the ceiling.........and no, there's no back seat, just four captain's chairs. The ENTIRE back of the van was STUFFED.<br /><br />And disorganized.<br /><br /><a href="http://cheezburger.com/View/3333519104"><img id="_r_a_3333519104" title="To her surprise, Bella finds the foot she" alt="To her surprise, Bella finds the foot she" src="http://images.cheezburger.com/completestore/2010/3/25/129140475491951792.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><strong><font color="#000099">Heather:</font> </strong>So when we finally got on the road, we were HOT and TIRED. We staggered into the first McDonalds we found for some mocha frappes (our family's latest craze) and also stopped for supper. This meant that we arrived at the entrance to Falls Creek Falls State Park in Tennessee at around 8:30 pm.<br /><br /><strong><font color="#cc0000">Raquelle:</font></strong> No, I think it was 9:30.<br /><br /><strong><font color="#000099">Heather:</font></strong><font color="#000099"> </font>Whatever. The key word there is "entrance." Not the lodge where we were staying, just the entrance.<br /><br />The rest of this narrative will be delivered in our usual style of highlights and lowlights. Ahem.<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Finding the entrance to Falls Creek Falls State Park.<br /><br /><strong>Lowlight:</strong> Driving... and driving... and driving...and not finding the Group Lodge (where Raquelle and I were staying) or the Park Inn (where Mom and Dad were staying).<br /><br /><strong>Exceedingly dim light:</strong> Driving... and driving... and driving... with a heavily loaded van pulling a heavily loaded trailer full of heavy reenactment stuff. Those dratted mountain roads were steep... and let's not even mention the hair-raising hairpin turns!<br /><br /><strong>Pitch black light*:</strong> Trying to read the signs in the dark every time we came to a turnoff or fork in the road. Dad was in the lead in his car and he would suddenly see a sign and slam on the brakes to read it in his headlights. Mom and I were following in the van (did I mention it was heavily loaded and pulling a heavily loaded trailer?) and slamming on the brakes was... um... interesting. Finally we pulled off and Raquelle hopped in Dad's car to help him navigate. We had walkie talkies and it sounded something like this:<br /><br /><strong>Raquelle:</strong> That sign wasn't it.<br /><strong>Mom: </strong>Don't slam on your brakes like that!<br /><strong>Raquelle:</strong> That wasn't it either.<br /><strong>Mom:</strong> Remember, I have a TRAILER back here!<br /><strong>Raquelle:</strong> Watch out for the deer!<br /><strong>Mom:</strong> Are we THERE yet?<br /><br />*Is a "pitch black light" an oxymoron?<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://cheezburger.com/View/2979492608"><img id="_r_a_2979492608" title="I shudda taken a left at Albuquerque!" alt="I shudda taken a left at Albuquerque!" src="http://images.cheezburger.com/completestore/2009/12/21/129058915818274436.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><strong><font color="#cc0000">Raquelle:</font> </strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Finally finding the Park Inn.<br /><br /><strong>Lowlight:</strong> Waiting five minutes while the desk clerks milled around with paperwork and ignored us. When they finally did notice us, we asked where the HSA group was located and received a blank stare. "Um.........." the clerk stared at a list and shook her head blandly. "Nothing like that here."<br /><br />"How about the organizer's name?" I asked desperately, stifling an impulse to jump up and down and throw things.<br /><br />"Um................Debi Reynolds?" she inquired languidly.<br /><br />"YES!" I nodded vigorously.<br /><br />She told us where to go and drew us a kindofsortof outline on a map. Then she registered Mom and Dad's room.<br /><br />"Do you want a patio room or a balcony room?" she asked Dad.<br /><br />Dad, who was also resisting an impulse to jump up and down and throw things, longsufferingly said he didn't care.<br /><br />"Well, which should I give you?" she pressed.<br /><br />"What's the difference?" he asked.<br /><br />She gave him a long-winded explanation and again asked which he wanted, as though it was the decision of the century.<br /><br />"I'll take a balcony room," he said wearily.<br /><br />The clerk busily clicked a bunch of buttons on her computer. "I don't <em>have</em> any balcony rooms available," she announced.<br /><br />So why did she OFFER it? Oh plz. And think, people like this get to vote. Oh well, we'll give her the benefit of the doubt and blame it on the computer system.<br /><br /><a href="http://cheezburger.com/View/1877392128"><img id="_r_a_1877392128" title="I sez SYSTEM IZ DOWN Petting will now commence" alt="I sez SYSTEM IZ DOWN Petting will now commence" src="http://images.icanhascheezburger.com/completestore/2009/3/14/128815330508422928.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><strong><font color="#000099">Heather:</font></strong><br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Dad and I went over and looked at the big park map on the wall. Have you ever left a pile of string on the floor and let some kittens play with it? That's sorta how all the roads looked on the map. However, we figured out a tentative route however and decided to try it.<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Dropping the trailer at the Inn. Now we just had a heavily loaded van to deal with. Much better.<br /><br /><strong>Lowlight:</strong> Driving for another 20 minutes, repeating the same process listed above.<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Finally seeing a sign that actually had "Group Lodge 2" on it!! We took the road and found the lodge within minutes. Yipppeee!<br /><br /><strong><font color="#cc0000">Raquelle:</font></strong> Actually, that's not true. We saw a sign that just said "Group Lodge" because from that direction they don't bother telling you whether it's #1 or #2. We thought it was the OTHER Group Lodge and went right past it and ended out on the highway again and had to turn around. Dang. Dad and I were muttering darkly about stewpid state parks with stewpid signage. This is not the first time we have encountered stewpid things like this at stewpid state parks. I'd like to know who the brainiacs are that design these things anyway.<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://cheezburger.com/View/3174285824"><img id="_r_a_3174285824" title="he waz already stuipid when i came in" alt="he waz already stuipid when i came in" src="http://images.cheezburger.com/completestore/2010/2/9/129102265082447742.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><strong><font color="#000099">Heather:</font></strong><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Seeing real live bodies of real live people at the lodge. Some kind folks (whom I didn't recognize in the dark) helped us unload all our JUNK. This was rather difficult since we had to sort through the reenactment stuff versus the TN Gathering stuff. We eventually got it all unloaded and trucked to our bunks.<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> We had been saved two corner bunks! This gave us a nice cubby hole in the back of the room to spread out our culch pile. Everybody needs a tiny kingdom to call their own in the girl's dorm.<br /><br /><a href="http://cheezburger.com/View/3083619072"><img id="_r_a_3083619072" title="I is very tiny ruler of very tiny tower Er... fear me." alt="I is very tiny ruler of very tiny tower Er... fear me." src="http://images.cheezburger.com/completestore/2010/1/18/129083326846952853.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Making my bed, which included opening my sleeping bag and plopping my pillow on it.<br /><br /><strong>Lowlight:</strong> Making Raquelle's bed, which included layers of sheets, blankets and afghans, not to mention pillowcases. Some people like to make life complicated.<br /><br /><strong><font color="#cc0000">Raquelle:</font> </strong>I don't LIKE sleeping bags. There's no possibility of temperature control. You're either IN it and too hot, or OUT of it and too cold. Blankets provide much more flexibility.<br /><br /><font color="#000099"><strong>Heather:</strong><br /></font><strong>Lowlight:</strong> I wasn't feeling well.<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> It was pure heaven to crawl into my warm sleeping bag and CRASH.<br /><br />Thus endeth Sunday.<br /><br /><strong><font color="#990000">Raquelle:</font></strong> For you, maybe. That's because you weren't feeling great when we were breaking down the reenacting stuff and YOU got to spend half the time in the air-conditioned van eating chocolate, while <em>I</em> was working. *sniff*<br /><br /><strong><font color="#000099">Heather:</font></strong> Oh yeah, it was so great moaning and groaning in the van while you guys got to do something productive towards getting us OUT of there. And I was NOT eating chocolate. Just cheese bunnies.<br /><br /><strong><font color="#cc0000">Raquelle:</font></strong> Cheese bunnies, schmeeze bunnies.<br /><br /><strong>Highlight: </strong>Taking a shower and getting the cannon smoke out of my hair.<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Chatting with the other late-night prinking girls while curling my hair. You find out all sorts of confidential secrets late at night.<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://cheezburger.com/View/2970591232"><img id="_r_a_2970591232" title="OMG! Your teeth are removable?" alt="OMG! Your teeth are removable?" src="http://images.cheezburger.com/completestore/2009/12/18/129056590476171100.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><strong>Lowlight:</strong> Getting hungry and being too tired to roust out a snack from my snack stash.<br /><br /><strong>Lowlight:</strong> Going to bed very late and getting a second wind and staying pop-eyed till about 3:00 a.m.<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Finally falling asleep.<br /><br />THUS endeth Sunday. Get it STRAIGHT.<br /></div>Heather Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03350882971891496288noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3244533696111728633.post-82774526196340837532010-03-03T19:31:00.001-08:002010-03-03T19:33:05.245-08:00Battle of AikenI may get around to posting about the Battle of Aiken. Then again, I might not. But here's an entry someone else posted about my Dad's engineering unit at Aiken. Pretty cool.<br /><br /><a href="http://civil-war-picket.blogspot.com/2010/02/of-rocket-launchers-and-engineers.html">http://civil-war-picket.blogspot.com/2010/02/of-rocket-launchers-and-engineers.html</a>Heather Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03350882971891496288noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3244533696111728633.post-59893054786034786402009-12-01T19:49:00.000-08:002009-12-02T20:02:58.680-08:00Battle of Secessionville - SundaySunday dawned SUNNY and we scurried around getting dressed and packing up. We actually managed to get out of the hotel about five minutes BEFORE the deadline we’d set for ourselves. Now that’s perty good for us! As many of our friends know, we have Kerrs in our ancestry and their clan motto is “Late, but in earnest.” Yup yup yup, that’s us.<br /><br />I was going to show Mom the cute bridge to the battlefield when we got there, but we got sidetracked talking with a lady who came over for some advice on her outfit. She had a nice authentic dress but was still figuring out all the accoutrements. The biggest problem she had was her hair, which was about Mom’s length and straight. Mom showed her how to do a roll like she had, and I showed her how to do a twist on the sides like I had. This was all very absorbing and took some time.<br /><br />It was soon time for church, however, so we broke it up and gathered our Bibles, gloves and parasols. You must look proper for church! <br /><br />The walk over was very nice. They held the church service in front of the hall on benches under an arbor. It was a beautiful sunny day and I enjoyed the scenery while listening to the sermon. The service was attended mostly be reenactors but some early-arriving spectators showed up too. I noticed a dad with two young teenaged boys. The dad was obviously very interested but the boys looked pretty bored. Oh well, at least they had a comfortable place to sit.<br /><br />The pastor’s sermon was from Isaiah’s prophecy of the coming Messiah. It was a good, evangelistic sermon which was nice. Sometimes at reenactments you wind up hearing a rather bland, fluffy sermonette that isn’t particularly helpful to anyone. <br /><br />After church, I finally had a chance to take Mom and Raquelle over to the bridge which they agreed was quite picturesque. We thereupon took pictures of ourselves on it.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4pTbPejs0K_omi1Rw0hi24kaVD7Bcaso6UD3tNOjL0R5xhbDvyg6Xz7kBat8LzKPxJxC6KjiUDyRsK7OY0u1VPm6qDysqDa6kvzv0jj_Fjsy8HaUmYiPvueiN6k40u8LerXa-VyzHIxW5/s1600-h/IMG_7489.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4pTbPejs0K_omi1Rw0hi24kaVD7Bcaso6UD3tNOjL0R5xhbDvyg6Xz7kBat8LzKPxJxC6KjiUDyRsK7OY0u1VPm6qDysqDa6kvzv0jj_Fjsy8HaUmYiPvueiN6k40u8LerXa-VyzHIxW5/s320/IMG_7489.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410844231938623570" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdKr1siSQCHByUNt5LFBeKhQvIb6S_g_xae4SRQ1yCnIsf_BnQwBNrG5Kp78eHlnLB5eE3ScFZExOfa1oS1m-rPLQEZu_A8GumHq_uyKEfCo0cMUo-PmTYF-BIhnQRfSu-uLb58OQuF4yY/s1600-h/IMG_7490.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdKr1siSQCHByUNt5LFBeKhQvIb6S_g_xae4SRQ1yCnIsf_BnQwBNrG5Kp78eHlnLB5eE3ScFZExOfa1oS1m-rPLQEZu_A8GumHq_uyKEfCo0cMUo-PmTYF-BIhnQRfSu-uLb58OQuF4yY/s320/IMG_7490.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410845112238270258" /></a><br /><br />Then Mom and I decided to do a little shopping before lunch time. First, we stopped at the hall and took some pictures of ourselves on the porch. A nice older gentleman in gray happened by and offered to take a picture of both of us so we took him up on it.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPTBTaQxV4DIIRVGaE1pqg9-T0sgBJFCF1MHAObT-jUqpqtSg9tZhbMWN8M9Cg-aPaVxWYr3-ek47VGc5rI0Kg37rxlQc6YVxbKxQ66weki58zHrJU2G0hSjD0tCyGD82NxMWuGkL_EtVZ/s1600-h/IMG_7500.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPTBTaQxV4DIIRVGaE1pqg9-T0sgBJFCF1MHAObT-jUqpqtSg9tZhbMWN8M9Cg-aPaVxWYr3-ek47VGc5rI0Kg37rxlQc6YVxbKxQ66weki58zHrJU2G0hSjD0tCyGD82NxMWuGkL_EtVZ/s320/IMG_7500.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410845846390668466" /></a><br /><br />Then on to sutler row! As we were approaching the sutlers, the same dad and teenaged boys I saw at church earlier came hurrying up to us. "Can I take a picture of my son with you two ladies?" the guy asked. We said sure and then jokingly remarked that his son must be just THRILLED to have his picture taken with a buncha GIRLS. His dad rolled his eyes. "Oh, he'd love to be somewhere else," he snorted. "I would not, this is kinda fun," his son protested. Cool, we got a convert. <br /><br />There weren’t all that many exciting sutlers but one that we did get stalled at had tons of Civil War scrapbook supplies. It’s really hard to find scrapbook stuff for that particular war so these folks had made their own supplies for sale. We got some with thoughts of our own scrapbooks as well as our UDC chapter’s scrapbook in mind.<br /><br />Then I decided I was HUNGRY and we headed over to the Shealy’s fry bread tent for lunch. Turns out they were doing a brisk business and nearly out of food again, so we got lunch for Raquelle while we were at it. Dad was already there and had just finished his. I tried the chili, cheese and beans fry bread for the first time and vastly enjoyed it.<br /><br />Deciding that there was more room for big fat skirts at our tent than under the Shealy’s fly, we headed back to our campsite to eat. And who should appear but Raquelle with lunch in her hands! So, um, now we had an extra lunch. Anybody want a Navaho taco on fry bread?<br /><br />While we ate, we visited with friends. Jeannie Rucker stopped by again, clothed in a snazzy looking silk taffeta plaid dress with knife-pleat ribbon ruching. She was wearing her Marie Stewart bonnet like Mom's. (Guys, stop yawning, this stuff is IMPORTANT.)<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUDfkH118eGKcijik4ZUAqDx-BOpM7sq5uEc6yLsS1wMqpLcriR5DyLyOevuRAd4eBrGfDQXxNDwG9fYNQxfltRVqxiy60oMd6Fmk4yPFfmvSjxNe1MuXao8LDpn8aP66tavEKEq1dcusc/s1600-h/IMG_75042.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUDfkH118eGKcijik4ZUAqDx-BOpM7sq5uEc6yLsS1wMqpLcriR5DyLyOevuRAd4eBrGfDQXxNDwG9fYNQxfltRVqxiy60oMd6Fmk4yPFfmvSjxNe1MuXao8LDpn8aP66tavEKEq1dcusc/s320/IMG_75042.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410846409317991010" /></a><br /><br />Dad was in the battle again today but I didn’t go over right away. After all, the Yankees were supposed to win and who wanted to see THAT? I finally headed over for the last fifteen minutes of it however. I was glad I did.<br /><br />First off, it was another exciting battle with troops moving around under cover in the field and the Confederates manning the walls and sending sorties out. Jack Thomson (the man who gives historic walking tours of Charleston) was playing Union that day and he got wounded, not to mention captured. He was hauled into the Confederate fort and he kept hollering, “Don’t rob me! Don’t rob me!” Nobody robbed him, but a doctor came over to bandage his “wounded” leg. He howled and carried on about it with great gusto.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3PTOhsbZel5dCC1fBQTiyMon6q3-yn128ZwsvuKDShGEC-d5GkNZUY8GH7lU2D67P1U5dlsxGbEZuD3AvmBJfwi-ppWPBHjZsHXOLrxan_qbohPSO5GaAH-Ig9BzxK-myn0aX1XOrO-O7/s1600-h/IMG_7527.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3PTOhsbZel5dCC1fBQTiyMon6q3-yn128ZwsvuKDShGEC-d5GkNZUY8GH7lU2D67P1U5dlsxGbEZuD3AvmBJfwi-ppWPBHjZsHXOLrxan_qbohPSO5GaAH-Ig9BzxK-myn0aX1XOrO-O7/s320/IMG_7527.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410847365343572386" /></a><br /><br />The Confederates had some other Union prisoners in the fort too, but they made a break for it and got away. I heard someone on the spectator line harassing one of the Confederate guards, who was evidently his friend. “Hey Joe!” he called. “What happened to your prisoners?” Joe rolled his eyes. “They wouldn’t take a hit in the back,” he snorted. In other words, the Confederate guards had indeed fired at them as they ran off but the pestiferous Yanks refused to “die.” Ha! Snort!<br /><br />Unfortunately, Dad's hat was shot off before I arrived to watch so I did not get any pictures of that historic event. He said he was able to fake it by giving it a flick with his finger when he raised his telescope to view the lines. He completed the impression by looking startled, gathering up the hat, ostensibly finding a bullet hole in it, then shrugging and replacing it. He was told by several guys that that was the best hat-shot-off scene they'd ever witnessed. <br /><br />Well, the battle was winding up to a climax and the Federals were gathering themselves up for the final attempt which would, according to the script, give them occupancy of the fort and thus victory. Amid drums rolling and officers exhorting, they flung themselves in a final attack on the walls. <br /><br />However, after about five or ten minutes’ effort, they finally fell back in evident fear, having lost over half their numbers. As they swarmed back over the field, the faithful flag-wielder climbed the fort walls again and waved his flag. Another fella jumped up on the walls and began hollering derisive things at the Yanks’ fleeing backs. I don’t know what he was saying, but his gestures were highly taunting, not to mention entertaining for the spectators. However, the commanding general must have realized the futility of exposing himself on the walls, because I heard him bellow at the fella, “Git down from thar!”<br /><br />Here’s a picture of the flag-wielder and the hollerer doing their thing.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqUCeqU6xbJDdS4ICsbzgpNUZYPxoIaxrqxYDNRTdhSDyyfePShwLbViGQFcegUrr0nsN2Vfyn4FU6DPHA3gK_kSJO_I43ta_V0VWSLj9k6BRg_jEyA3fyfY9zYmfbFbvmdLTzCRBJeX8A/s1600-h/IMG_75372.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqUCeqU6xbJDdS4ICsbzgpNUZYPxoIaxrqxYDNRTdhSDyyfePShwLbViGQFcegUrr0nsN2Vfyn4FU6DPHA3gK_kSJO_I43ta_V0VWSLj9k6BRg_jEyA3fyfY9zYmfbFbvmdLTzCRBJeX8A/s320/IMG_75372.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410847914596452498" /></a><br /><br />At this point, in great wonderment, I heard Taps played and all the “dead” resurrected. Well! So much for that script wherein the Yanks were supposed to win. I wondered who had deviated, but I certainly couldn’t complain of the result! The South will rise again! Yeehaw!<br /><br />So I trudged back across the big, hot field which was just as big and hot as the day before. And I trundled over the shady wooden bridge, which was just as shady as the day before. And wound up warm and tired at the tent.<br /><br />We spent the next hour or so yakking with friends. The artillery commander (who was camped next to us) came over to chat with Dad. He and Dad got to talking about the battle’s unscripted end. “Yeah, that was my fault,” the guy chortled. “We were out of ammo for the cannons and the Yanks thought they were safe in attacking. But as a bunch of them were trying to climb in, I put a lanyard into the gun’s touchhole and said, ‘I’m gonna FAR this thang!’ They believed me and boy, did they run!” He laughed at the memory. “I get wound up in battles,” he admitted. <br /><br />Dad wanted to know what the Federal commander thought. “Oh, he thought it was great. He came up and told me so afterward,” the guy assured Dad. Sometimes, I think we reenactors have a little too much fun.<br /><br />By the way, I should mention that this particular artillery commander had fun harassing us all weekend. You see, he brings his family and they set up housekeeping in their tents. They even bring two cute little wood stoves, not to mention beds, quilts and the works. He insisted that we were SISSIES for going to a hotel at night. Every time one of us ladies passed by, he'd stop us and make us admire their "homey" and "snug" setup. Dad got out of the harassment by saying us women needing guarding so he had to go along with us at night. (Ha! Dad hates camping worse than the rest of us!) I finally got out of the harassment by smiling sweetly and observing that I was not the one in our who insisted on hotels. This is entirely true. Why should I, when Mom and Raqu do such a good job of insisting for me?<br /><br />It was now time to pack up and take down our tents and displays. Dad had already packed up a great deal of equipment. He and Mom trundled off to make the mile run back to the parking lot for the van. They were gone a very long time because the road coming in (as I have mentioned before) was a one-lane tunnel through the trees. And everyone was clogging it with traffic, naturally. <br /><br />So while they were gone, Raqu and I packed up everything we could and then flopped down on the empty tent floor and took a nap. It’s a rough life.<br /><br />Packing up seemed to go slower than usual this time and I got bored. Muddle about the gabion, clatter the tent poles around, flop the canvas here and there and put that extra Navaho taco fry bread on the dashboard. It went on and on.<br /><br />Suddenly I had a brilliant idea. Jeannie had been telling us about how they would often gather up pecans that had fallen on the ground to take home and eat. So I dug out our five gallon metal bucket and proceeded to – you thought I was going to say, fill it up, right? Nope, I didn’t have enough time or enough pecan trees or enough daylight to get five gallons of pecans. However, I did get a goodly amount which we will shortly be incorporating into pecan pies. Mmmm, how more southern can ya get than that? Pecan pie from the pecan trees of Boone Hall!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwss14VUE3f4HRPUlcJTaeIT0OItICUNPg0-F0DPXhHUrWhAXJS-ZbMRGVeYW7SLfzVi5sd-nLTwLObA7mKQ9avh_Md5souHnRJtCkrdwQ5Ehmbsrz_Ijp18v4GVRlKimlLA6nOWAdE1QD/s1600-h/IMG_75432.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwss14VUE3f4HRPUlcJTaeIT0OItICUNPg0-F0DPXhHUrWhAXJS-ZbMRGVeYW7SLfzVi5sd-nLTwLObA7mKQ9avh_Md5souHnRJtCkrdwQ5Ehmbsrz_Ijp18v4GVRlKimlLA6nOWAdE1QD/s320/IMG_75432.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410848506916831538" /></a><br /><br />And of course, we had one more glorious sunset to photograph before pulling out and heading to dinner at the Golden Corral.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQsta9Yh1PUfQXcGEs4c5LqG1M2wA1XNoIaUjnyVCtdwDIwUdVoYA22B50MxDFQAOYuGmI7jlqR7ZUnHwj69Pys6Imf2eLQwVZc6jv8CwCUmWnjY_bXxzdELXrBSAVMU7uPSgM5y81UKFw/s1600-h/IMG_7556.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQsta9Yh1PUfQXcGEs4c5LqG1M2wA1XNoIaUjnyVCtdwDIwUdVoYA22B50MxDFQAOYuGmI7jlqR7ZUnHwj69Pys6Imf2eLQwVZc6jv8CwCUmWnjY_bXxzdELXrBSAVMU7uPSgM5y81UKFw/s320/IMG_7556.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410849615917335090" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYEaNyurBUi6TmmN5j2xgUH3otLCzLVh8ubk21i22oqSD8C1OhotNX2NtfgIAdu7R8Stkvw_bh94YmLPx_bH05h3VZsMw3Fcq8tU3GEYZaYje4m-qchl4zbfehhN0F5XVXwifA-mKpP9aM/s1600-h/IMG_7565.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYEaNyurBUi6TmmN5j2xgUH3otLCzLVh8ubk21i22oqSD8C1OhotNX2NtfgIAdu7R8Stkvw_bh94YmLPx_bH05h3VZsMw3Fcq8tU3GEYZaYje4m-qchl4zbfehhN0F5XVXwifA-mKpP9aM/s320/IMG_7565.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410850259888162386" /></a><br /><br />And that, my friends, is a true and faithful and mostly accurate account of the Battle of Secessionville at Boone Hall! See y’all there next time!!Heather Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03350882971891496288noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3244533696111728633.post-27248390019169696572009-11-24T17:10:00.000-08:002009-11-29T19:15:28.296-08:00Battle of Secessionville - SaturdaySaturday dawned bright and… cloudy again. Bummer. The weather forecast had been for SUNSHINE so I was really ticked off. Not only that, but I had to put my hair up three times before it would behave. Not only that, but putting my hair up three times meant that I was running behind schedule so I had to scramble the rest of the morning. I was not a happy camper. In the middle of the vortex, Raquelle sweetly remarked, “I’m going over to Mom’s room to help her dress.” Ha! Yeah, right. I knew why she was leaving – to get away from Miz Grouchface Me! <br /><br />Anyway, we finally got ourselves pulled together, out the door, in the van and to the reenactment site. We blithely told the guard at the entrance that we had “stuff to drop off” and he let us drive our vehicle in. We couldn’t park as close as the Denver Airport this time, but we did manage to park just two minutes away from our campsite. That was good because we had STUFF with us this morning. The ball was this evening so we’d brought our ball dresses in case it was warm enough to put them on. <br /><br />But the FIRST thing I wanted to do was have someone take a picture of me. I’d gotten a new dress at the Battle of Atlanta and wanted a photo of it. Since I’m usually taking the pictures, I’m usually not IN the pictures. So Raquelle obligingly took several shots of me in my new dress – red and green homespun-looking plaid. It was a nice wintery outfit and I found it quite comfortable. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJR4HkAQLxx53eikPLBA8lsz_QuMLHVsqboCcgRclLBnvivguhP4InhoFBastw27mBVwPR6QfwAD0qvpUOCyPIp1BTmkVDm8NyTHYUkrh94H3GLEfOQYQTBlejp9kCXiS4-FjHoSSCUToy/s1600/IMG_7165.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJR4HkAQLxx53eikPLBA8lsz_QuMLHVsqboCcgRclLBnvivguhP4InhoFBastw27mBVwPR6QfwAD0qvpUOCyPIp1BTmkVDm8NyTHYUkrh94H3GLEfOQYQTBlejp9kCXiS4-FjHoSSCUToy/s320/IMG_7165.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407843377510046242" /></a><br /><br />Mom and Raquelle sneer at the idea of wearing a store-bought dress (horrors!) but I insisted that if I’m going to spend time sewing, I want to spend it on FUN things like ball dresses, not boring ole day dresses.<br /><br />I decided that I was still too grouchy to be around people so I grabbed a muffin and stalked off to the gardens. Since my mouth was obviously full, no one bothered me and I was able to calm down and cheer up. <br /><br />The scene around our tents had changed overnight. No longer were we surround by living history exhibits. Instead, during the wee hours of the night, an entire artillery camp had sprung up around us. In fact, the Ruckers had pitched their tent just twenty feet from ours, which certainly made visiting back and forth quite easy!<br /><br />Pretty soon it was time for the ladies’ tea, so we all headed for the Cotton Dock. The Cotton Dock building really was a dock on the creek. It was a nice roomy L-shaped building with a huge fireplace and big double doors that opened onto the dock. Lights and big picture windows completed the scene. We arrived early and took pictures of friends while waiting for the signal to get something to eat. The ladies who brought the “spread” outdid themselves and we had veggies, cookies, bread, as well as sweet tea and punch. We felt quite elegant sitting around chatting with our friends while sipping tea and munching cookies.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV0OnRUjqHZOhZ7Q3hB-QLSmx9S81sxQ2mR4VyB5B5E9bb4wiUXt_n9g_wlf73jFTgJSd9AqFf43hOFVAlf8U0ICN1uoxKY1UJVnb53WaJoB-mwi2sxBboEvXuOsHSRmX10cJEXO0ah_f5/s1600/IMG_7169.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV0OnRUjqHZOhZ7Q3hB-QLSmx9S81sxQ2mR4VyB5B5E9bb4wiUXt_n9g_wlf73jFTgJSd9AqFf43hOFVAlf8U0ICN1uoxKY1UJVnb53WaJoB-mwi2sxBboEvXuOsHSRmX10cJEXO0ah_f5/s320/IMG_7169.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407844314574708642" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCEaX-KpQF2HVa16r6jar7-3CL-z0vIyIlPLOyGlvNLd9919rswGgqUJaHZ6UuMnmBd_uqibmMJg5TlIlfxczsBhLJpFqyON5jV6__c9jsUWXGWmyoSJQLzyjlT1Vj7TlkXt5dEoAOxToc/s1600/IMG_7181.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCEaX-KpQF2HVa16r6jar7-3CL-z0vIyIlPLOyGlvNLd9919rswGgqUJaHZ6UuMnmBd_uqibmMJg5TlIlfxczsBhLJpFqyON5jV6__c9jsUWXGWmyoSJQLzyjlT1Vj7TlkXt5dEoAOxToc/s320/IMG_7181.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407845008722481138" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbliYMNmFAemzELNDmSyi83wCqYibdZ_fG2ZF4pTveGWSDE9Hms9KtRVFH_oc2trILiKoE4XkZ_S0jhpIpGaRuDj6OmNkBbdXO1LvirQBiZkQQ1UoUZbguu1hi2hE6DB_7va_40PB5ST1l/s1600/IMG_7185.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbliYMNmFAemzELNDmSyi83wCqYibdZ_fG2ZF4pTveGWSDE9Hms9KtRVFH_oc2trILiKoE4XkZ_S0jhpIpGaRuDj6OmNkBbdXO1LvirQBiZkQQ1UoUZbguu1hi2hE6DB_7va_40PB5ST1l/s320/IMG_7185.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407874882413607378" /></a><br /><br />Afterwards, we stepped out on the dock to take some pictures and I was thrilled to see that ALL the clouds were gone and we were in blinding sunshine! Yay!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTsKIiWIUBMArVl5DVJ4JemFd1fbarfX_MGDd_up8d6uwXF8WsR9-xHQdCYqQImA3ViaFVQ80obgSkojzVhQUXf3dcGh2GTMRPeITj2tISlgImE-7ux3k05bqOPYN5SZzPpRVNxoMZ-gGJ/s1600/IMG_7199.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTsKIiWIUBMArVl5DVJ4JemFd1fbarfX_MGDd_up8d6uwXF8WsR9-xHQdCYqQImA3ViaFVQ80obgSkojzVhQUXf3dcGh2GTMRPeITj2tISlgImE-7ux3k05bqOPYN5SZzPpRVNxoMZ-gGJ/s320/IMG_7199.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407877730321673922" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQKBDhsL5RQxHU7s0CwYWIPdeuber49prdcIguXI5p2uUKKEZO85cLbW_ot4Rb55xrSh7xFpEa53qTSqlneNq_3gqj4nBx9nvvXsbyInGFPJB8Qd498nSDBcNFeVQ3fGk9z1B3uvDz4Fu2/s1600/IMG_7205.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQKBDhsL5RQxHU7s0CwYWIPdeuber49prdcIguXI5p2uUKKEZO85cLbW_ot4Rb55xrSh7xFpEa53qTSqlneNq_3gqj4nBx9nvvXsbyInGFPJB8Qd498nSDBcNFeVQ3fGk9z1B3uvDz4Fu2/s320/IMG_7205.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409646752199572722" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPEnZmbC5bUXObla53gWNwvPbPas8o641SV233xiWC7zCUBCHkc7GvNGMd0JDHN7q8lLJvBmiZky4LX28v-qMxNqqA6VicSgsKqQyzPVWAbIljiu-1s4MuTLwIU2QnlkTDpEG1aQ-qx4ni/s1600/IMG_7207.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPEnZmbC5bUXObla53gWNwvPbPas8o641SV233xiWC7zCUBCHkc7GvNGMd0JDHN7q8lLJvBmiZky4LX28v-qMxNqqA6VicSgsKqQyzPVWAbIljiu-1s4MuTLwIU2QnlkTDpEG1aQ-qx4ni/s320/IMG_7207.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409647291075273890" /></a><br /><br />We sauntered lazily back to the campsite, whereupon I suddenly remembered that the Federal army was going to stack arms in the avenue of the oaks while getting lunch, so I grabbed my camera and scuttled back. Great photo ops must be taken whenever they appear, even during lunch time!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg9LpXMcTL7hj0gcWuY8rsXU7l-xVidk7ERRrbFVqurDFm0_CV8r8XO5vL5Y5llz98KYXsxr1nPZsIbIDbTNZ4GDHQUu6cxp84HZAFk0-vw4nOClaIpnbzYmcuPlHh404ShzO3HVr73Dz_/s1600/IMG_7220.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg9LpXMcTL7hj0gcWuY8rsXU7l-xVidk7ERRrbFVqurDFm0_CV8r8XO5vL5Y5llz98KYXsxr1nPZsIbIDbTNZ4GDHQUu6cxp84HZAFk0-vw4nOClaIpnbzYmcuPlHh404ShzO3HVr73Dz_/s320/IMG_7220.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409648147790334578" /></a><br /><br />After this, we enjoyed lunch and had a good time chatting with several ladies at our tent. Dad, meanwhile, had been packing his gear for the battle. The artillery commander had seen Dad’s display the night before and asked Dad to help him in the fort by calling canon fire ranges and generally keeping an eye on enemy movements. So Dad got his tripod and map and trundled off to get set up.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6hQxhmnwH4-_9a4sJ1tcQh7Lj2bnwzx4NstFqfgIMQImDIWKtqIYHXwgMCPFoUjt2QB_5MUBqE8EZs0fRW8iVc1J91eWksVRmzYMa7-aTJfgETHRl12AhSMIHrBP6TNAqBfexxK4ZitFK/s1600/IMG_7249.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6hQxhmnwH4-_9a4sJ1tcQh7Lj2bnwzx4NstFqfgIMQImDIWKtqIYHXwgMCPFoUjt2QB_5MUBqE8EZs0fRW8iVc1J91eWksVRmzYMa7-aTJfgETHRl12AhSMIHrBP6TNAqBfexxK4ZitFK/s320/IMG_7249.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409648921424373378" /></a><br /><br />Meanwhile, we ladies continued to yak until I realized the battle was going to start shortly. I really wanted some pictures of Dad so I hurried off with my camera to a short-cut through the woods Dad had mentioned. He said it was kind of scenic, with a footbridge over a creek. I pictured a cute little arched bridge, but that wasn’t how it turned out at all. Instead, I wound up on a lonnnng wooden bridge that snaked around through a marshy swamp. In some places, the bamboo and marsh grasses were tall enough to form a “tunnel” and block the sunlight. It was pretty cool.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVk4iljWXGTbtiY5ifhVZoh8umUb5SVc2k2nTIkGHhs0k_F7ia5S130aBBbtQZajpFsPGCj6k-bWWPNHIGov-abC2ffqA2olyjRbHMbKUeGhePCHxymc96emwfgGY48Py8VGJT60W1tzvD/s1600/IMG_7252.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVk4iljWXGTbtiY5ifhVZoh8umUb5SVc2k2nTIkGHhs0k_F7ia5S130aBBbtQZajpFsPGCj6k-bWWPNHIGov-abC2ffqA2olyjRbHMbKUeGhePCHxymc96emwfgGY48Py8VGJT60W1tzvD/s320/IMG_7252.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409650159297904658" /></a><br /><br />Emerging from this shaded spot, I found myself facing a huge, empty field to cross. This was not pretty cool. The sun was now high in the sky and it was HOT. (Yeah, I know it’s November, but that’s how things are in South Carolina sometimes.) Be that as it may, there were no handy golf carts or heroic cavalrymen around, so I trudged across the field on foot and wound up rather warm at the battle lines with ten minutes to go before the battle started.<br /><br />The announcer was telling people about the original battle being reenacted. Apparently, the Confederate forces had spent most of the night digging entrenchments and were laying down sleeping when the Federals attacked. The Confederates had to race to man to the walls of their fort. <br /><br />Well, sure enough, there were the entrenchments forming a fort and there were the Confederates dozing in the shade. Very authentic looking.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmolo0d8bdo_OcEtBwwdUj5ECfegnT7pTGdU1-U5COs92mSiY7XY6ez7raipQkzbBWvyUZ__ELMidyxqlBba8z4CE4cdEyogKKFBcn2xNxFjkvg-xtejki8q7Cvc4JLBumLwcrXg_kv9ra/s1600/IMG_7286.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmolo0d8bdo_OcEtBwwdUj5ECfegnT7pTGdU1-U5COs92mSiY7XY6ez7raipQkzbBWvyUZ__ELMidyxqlBba8z4CE4cdEyogKKFBcn2xNxFjkvg-xtejki8q7Cvc4JLBumLwcrXg_kv9ra/s320/IMG_7286.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409651088830549762" /></a><br /><br />Often times, reenacted battles can be a little boring. Troops move pointlessly forward, then pointlessly backward, then forward, then backward, and nobody dies till the last five minutes. However, this battle was different. <br /><br />It started abruptly when some Federal forces sneaked up using cover on the field and suddenly raced up to the entrenchments and tried to pull down the abattis. They were driven off by the Confederates who leaned over the walls and fought them hand to hand.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaiP2HChRf5w0KFoGsf2KGAddg8wNDmkcx78e7pG5baRJ2V-RJRlw63VTAnnp3rwDpOjIzFmtTelX5Kcb2u_mB4Ug9n2aAjC5ZUF-14Sxigi0QwMNU_-Qq7W-nnFt87CLI6F4VYU9act6q/s1600/IMG_7321.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaiP2HChRf5w0KFoGsf2KGAddg8wNDmkcx78e7pG5baRJ2V-RJRlw63VTAnnp3rwDpOjIzFmtTelX5Kcb2u_mB4Ug9n2aAjC5ZUF-14Sxigi0QwMNU_-Qq7W-nnFt87CLI6F4VYU9act6q/s320/IMG_7321.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409722665612028642" /></a><br /><br />Immediately following this exciting intro, the cannons began booming, drums started rolling, enemy soldiers were sneaking through the cover on the field and Confederate forces mounted the walls in waves. One wave would mount and fire, then retreat while the next wave came up. Dad was on a mound in the center of the fort, calling ranges and alerting the commander of enemy troop movements. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2Y6qnTL0PKXjcMV5uzktXpKutQvSj-NpHTVqwoWe_W0v0BgT-F9H01lKJiC7tblQzzBT5YjkUgW8G_hFvmSxwHgAS63Is9U7Yx6njv9yoktuXAvWVCvgDwsyBHpiFoa3ptJtdYZIp-zX_/s1600/IMG_72942.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2Y6qnTL0PKXjcMV5uzktXpKutQvSj-NpHTVqwoWe_W0v0BgT-F9H01lKJiC7tblQzzBT5YjkUgW8G_hFvmSxwHgAS63Is9U7Yx6njv9yoktuXAvWVCvgDwsyBHpiFoa3ptJtdYZIp-zX_/s320/IMG_72942.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409728529522083586" /></a> <br /><br />It was actually quite an exciting battle, both for the soldiers and the spectators. Dad took a “hit” during the battle – his guard had to bandage up his hand, which he then dutifully held up in the air the rest of the battle to keep the blood flowing the right way. Lots of other soldiers took hits too, so it looked quite authentic.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYbuTyII31_dv2P43ayJZIzBlMV_K1st4WgOYuwgLFyPKM50ivqOfy7Eb8GrPEeWgC7Dt-f7iEQFGqo9pJq-TGPMoZ7vPT0mrV8-TyXKgvThSuDxOQdyY3p2jwEoSdBWAz7DodfgRuDlMx/s1600/dadwounded.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYbuTyII31_dv2P43ayJZIzBlMV_K1st4WgOYuwgLFyPKM50ivqOfy7Eb8GrPEeWgC7Dt-f7iEQFGqo9pJq-TGPMoZ7vPT0mrV8-TyXKgvThSuDxOQdyY3p2jwEoSdBWAz7DodfgRuDlMx/s320/dadwounded.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409721969804440210" /></a><br /><center><i>Dad gets his hand bandaged by his guard</i></center><br /><br />One of the powder monkeys was a kid and he took a hit part way through. His dad and another soldier grabbed him and raced through the fort towards the hospital tent behind the lines. They ran right through the spectators, scattering them as they tore up to the medics and plopped the grinning kid down. Then they scrambled back into the fort. The crowd loved it and I got a good picture or two, inasmuch as I literally had to jump out of the way for them.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL10UHuoQb4_PXZUTxxo7L_u3fBYvL8RAhO-2d_bDVz9-ufNfWm5Ei3UsIZLyHDB60SpX9z1GAEBFIBgbq7ENoh7jpU-Lr1YeA4M1_PJhz6V3_ZHM1MDMCn4ZQTqWqIENvYAQYmCaGcb4Q/s1600/IMG_7418.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL10UHuoQb4_PXZUTxxo7L_u3fBYvL8RAhO-2d_bDVz9-ufNfWm5Ei3UsIZLyHDB60SpX9z1GAEBFIBgbq7ENoh7jpU-Lr1YeA4M1_PJhz6V3_ZHM1MDMCn4ZQTqWqIENvYAQYmCaGcb4Q/s320/IMG_7418.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409724210042121634" /></a><br /><br />One fella had a big Confederate flag and he loved to jump up on the walls and wave it defiantly at the enemy. At one point, the commander called everyone back off the walls (probably so the cannons could fire) and the fellow got excited and flipped around the flag and it, uh, came off the flag pole. The guy didn't realize it at first and kept excitedly waving his pole around till he suddenly noticed the flag's absence and roared back to the wall to get it. He was a little more careful how he waved it around after that.<br /><br />The battle finally ended with the Confederates winning the day and the bugler blew Taps as the troops resurrected. I was now pretty hot, especially since I hadn’t brought my parasol, so I headed back across the everlasting field, through the shaded marsh and to our campsite. <br /><br />By the way, did I mention the cotton patch near the campsites? Very southern looking, it was!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv-vkACgQBJWqntJkvZ-sNlZyiNQuypw9m3xdolSe6GwKbICNm5t62uQGPDcpUJv3_-r997GAFgv-1KU3TCECm5PCi3epjc8AmeS1LKB_3sFiG8PNrCB0JFDQCw_SkvvPVhprhTPU9vlqT/s1600/IMG_7250.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv-vkACgQBJWqntJkvZ-sNlZyiNQuypw9m3xdolSe6GwKbICNm5t62uQGPDcpUJv3_-r997GAFgv-1KU3TCECm5PCi3epjc8AmeS1LKB_3sFiG8PNrCB0JFDQCw_SkvvPVhprhTPU9vlqT/s320/IMG_7250.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409725118271627858" /></a><br /><br />Things were pretty quiet at the tent, so I decided to take a nap. It was very peaceful there in the shade of the pecan trees with the birds twittering. I had a pleasant time until everyone returned and Jeannie Rucker stopped by to chat. I didn’t want to miss the fun so I got up and joined in. We yakked about all sorts of things, but the best part was that we got Jeannie to agree to come to our ball as the photographer! We knew she would be good because she does all the photography for the Spartanburg ball. We had been looking for a good photographer for several weeks, so we were tickled that she agreed to come!<br /><br />We went looking for supper, but apparently were too late - the fry bread folks were already out of food and had shut down shortly after lunch. There had been a hot dog stand too, but it was shut down also. We managed to nip into the Butterfly Cafe just as it was closing and at least get some sandwiches. Boone Hall has some kind of butterfly pavilion thingie where you can see all kinds of butterflies and cocoons. We never got a chance to see it, but that's where the cafe name came from.<br /><br />After supper, we needed to get ready for the ball. Though we'd brought our ball dresses along, it was now getting cold and dampish so we opted not to wear them. (We later regretted this since the Cotton Dock turned out to be a lot warmer than we'd thought it would be.) At any rate, this made getting ready a lot quicker. Dad put away his engineering instruments, we battened down the tent for the night, and Dad hung a lit lantern under the fly to guide us when we came back. It was now time to leave. <br /><br />Raquelle and I ended up leaving a few minutes before Mom and Dad so when we got to the avenue of oaks, we just stood there and bugged our eyes. It was BEAUTIFUL. <br /><br />It was now dark and all along the avenue were lit flaring torches. Above the torches, you could see the shadowy forms of mysteriously moss-draped trees and catch a glimpse of starlight. Along the sides were tents lit with lanterns and campfire light. There's no way to describe how lovely and back-in-time it all was. And my camera gave me fits with the darkness so I didn't get any good pictures. You'll just have to use your imagination.<br /><br />The torchlight continued down the path to the Cotton Dock, through the woods and bamboo. The Cotton Dock itself was all lit up and a roaring fire was blazing in the fireplace. <br /><br />I have to apologize for not taking many pics of the ball. Mom and Raqu got excited about the beautiful sunset and took most of the rest of the memory space on my camera. I had a spare memory stick back at the hotel but it didn't do me much good there. :no comments from the peanut gallery, thank you:<br /><br />By the way, here is one of the gorgeous pictures they came up with.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-jOsBcI93LYHiGHDtha94GFNSB0-PnFf2JL3UZCV4PSWW5EsrgrL_COB5HG4P3XRT3sbHqZ69LzxGmkMbViLCzP_iuaT_qh1z2bN7dJ1EcD0dVuJBg19sFZWAPImDNugz5s-J6tifK327/s1600/IMG_7445.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-jOsBcI93LYHiGHDtha94GFNSB0-PnFf2JL3UZCV4PSWW5EsrgrL_COB5HG4P3XRT3sbHqZ69LzxGmkMbViLCzP_iuaT_qh1z2bN7dJ1EcD0dVuJBg19sFZWAPImDNugz5s-J6tifK327/s320/IMG_7445.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409728043771710450" /></a><br /><br />We saw the Suttons again and Jennifer, Raquelle and I strolled out on the dock to admire the water and the lights at night. Mom and Dad finally arrived as well. Then we found out that, contrary to what the program said, the ball was NOT starting at 7 pm, but rather at 8 pm. Well, phooey! Instead, the TALENT SHOW was starting at 7. Ahem, the ball would have been better. :giggle:<br /><br />There was a guy who played the banjo or mandolin or something and he was pretty good. Then he was followed by a "skit" involving Senator Glenn McConnell and his buddies. They pretended to be a medicine show and had various plants in the audience come up and demonstrate the wonders of their "tonic." They left just before the supposed police caught up with them. Does it strike anyone but me as funny that a senator would know about hokey medicine shows? :snickers:<br /><br />Then a group ostentatiously called the <i>Hunley Choir</i> got up. It was a group of old guys and they sang - sorta - in unison some 1860s songs. No harmony, and very little rhythm, but lots of feeling. Having given Confederate concerts ourselves, I can tell you a bit of strategy: Save "Dixie" for last. Everyone stands up for it and then you wind up with a standing ovation. But these fellers apparently hadn't thought of that, so they led off with "Dixie." So we all stood and whooped at the end. Then as they droned on some other songs, everyone got busy chatting. So they decided to wind up with "Dixie" again to get people's attention. So we all stood again and let out an obligatory whoop at the end.<br /><br />FINALLY it was time for the ball to start. The first few dances were exceedingly crowded but as the evening went on it cleared out a lot and dancing was easier and more fun. Raqu and I snagged some Citadel cadets (who were there in force that weekend) and taught them some of the dances. I wound up in a set of mostly teenagers for the Virginia Reel. Since it was too hard to hear the dance caller at that point, I hollered to them, "Has anyone done this dance before?" One feller had done it once and another feller assured me he'd seen it in a movie. Oh cool, this was going to be fun. So I quickly walked them through the dance and when we got to the reel part, one of the girls squealed, "Oh, this is FUN!" Everyone concurred enthusiastically. <br /><br />I circulated between dances to look at the ladies' dresses. Because the building was nice, many of the ladies had worn their nice ball gowns. I did have room for one or two pictures of lovely ladies.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT2lSApo9pIxgGqAaTvESVAgRhUtXVdCzqZAt-Eat5D-n-RrZGWEIXJzRIor7OcG5tDJgGNzc1DgJs4BeeAXi6BthD5-gBsYrZIO7eIJYW58KyHQJtsKILHQuRIR03Lkww6bMBcn0lG171/s1600/IMG_7476.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT2lSApo9pIxgGqAaTvESVAgRhUtXVdCzqZAt-Eat5D-n-RrZGWEIXJzRIor7OcG5tDJgGNzc1DgJs4BeeAXi6BthD5-gBsYrZIO7eIJYW58KyHQJtsKILHQuRIR03Lkww6bMBcn0lG171/s320/IMG_7476.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409726620740077090" /></a><br /><br />While talking with one of them about dresses, we got to talking about the frustration of dealing with a lace-up bodice. "It takes FOREVER to lace up," one girl complained. And guy promptly chimed in, "I'll tell you what takes FOREVER - waiting on a GIRL who has a lace-up bodice!" He proceeded to recount his woes in detail concerning waiting on said laced-up girl. I found it very amusing, though doubtlessly he did not.<br /><br />After a fun evening, we headed out to go back to the tent and drop off the camp stools and other paraphernalia we can't live without for two hours. The hall was all lit up and I couldn't resist getting some pictures. However, my memory stick was full. So I looked through it (in the dark) and found a picture or two that hadn't turned out, deleted them, and then used the free space to take a couple pics.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhchsep8A_m7Udr2vLYoJeoyyBUU711tXEYbW3RpCSrIsniVvGFmG7ifGY0enqjOlOZy3RgtMmpV78OZxycF8mm7wDd9EN_WfHhl3nVChu_OdTOECmJ9jkFWbE5cRzkV7S6kOeZJGok5t5Z/s1600/IMG_7485.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhchsep8A_m7Udr2vLYoJeoyyBUU711tXEYbW3RpCSrIsniVvGFmG7ifGY0enqjOlOZy3RgtMmpV78OZxycF8mm7wDd9EN_WfHhl3nVChu_OdTOECmJ9jkFWbE5cRzkV7S6kOeZJGok5t5Z/s320/IMG_7485.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409727358245812578" /></a><br /><br />And that was the end of Saturday! More fun and frolic to follow on Sunday... if I can ever finish this blog...Heather Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03350882971891496288noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3244533696111728633.post-57589827102586641442009-11-22T18:53:00.000-08:002009-11-23T17:56:59.815-08:00Battle of Secessionville - FridayFriday dawned cold and overcast again. Dad had gone out to the campsite early and called to tell us to arrive later than we’d planned since it was so cold. He also informed us that they weren’t enforcing the “no vehicles in camp” rule on Friday. This was good news for us since the walk from the parking area to our campsite was roughly a mile. (Really.) So when we finally drove out to the plantation, we were able to head right up to the campsite and park by the "Denver Airport."<br /><br />Did I mention the road we drove in on once we were past registration? It was a literal tunnel of greenery. All kinds of trees and vines swarmed overhead and the trail itself was hard-packed sand. I have no idea how trucks got through there since our van and trailer barely made it. I s’pose they came up the avenue of oaks instead.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigLHpUnvL_mYLBUTbDzGS3ehp1_eP-oHZso_DFFB9moPNn7sjZ-UhSywOlBUTU2Jh0THosOyXnulMjgkIhPXtkdcUY8bb271lvOj9PreByPhfjSg4yfjftTD9Aa2lfKmHoGEanLvMsYBBn/s1600/IMG_7436.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigLHpUnvL_mYLBUTbDzGS3ehp1_eP-oHZso_DFFB9moPNn7sjZ-UhSywOlBUTU2Jh0THosOyXnulMjgkIhPXtkdcUY8bb271lvOj9PreByPhfjSg4yfjftTD9Aa2lfKmHoGEanLvMsYBBn/s320/IMG_7436.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407127677584945586" /></a><br /><br />The Suttons were set up next to us in living history so I ran over to take some pictures of them first off. They had big posters with the words to famous Civil War songs. Mr. Sutton was playing his banjo and the three of them (Mr. & Mrs. Sutton and Jennifer) were teaching the kids to sing them. I think the kids were having fun.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi75WXVU42hUgFfTXMPxB9Gkba0trJTeVx00AF8Y8IIwccULOmaMlYtymEkITmpPRYbh19LZlYt1dBzkbVbPSBrmMmEqlk2sZ3BB4E0knMku0H5_CuOIUg8B2f-n6ARHiK7H2Qa6Rd_eWJg/s1600/IMG_7090.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi75WXVU42hUgFfTXMPxB9Gkba0trJTeVx00AF8Y8IIwccULOmaMlYtymEkITmpPRYbh19LZlYt1dBzkbVbPSBrmMmEqlk2sZ3BB4E0knMku0H5_CuOIUg8B2f-n6ARHiK7H2Qa6Rd_eWJg/s320/IMG_7090.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407129080920461122" /></a><br /><br />Mom wanted to straighten up the tent so Raquelle and I decided to take a quick walk and get the “lay of the land.” First we headed for sutler row, which was set up along the famous avenue of oaks. Very picturesque, the avenue looked, with all those old-fashioned white tents set up and 1860s gentlemen and ladies wandering around. We discovered where some of the PSRS ladies were encamped and stopped to talk for a few minutes. They were going to cook lunch for the entire Federal army the next day so were getting started on it then. Huge cast iron pots were already over the fire and meat, carrots, and onions were being sliced rapidly into their depths.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxUG5L9N_FQwHnHOrBIwdrISjWVU-wgpX759kaAiLxH2zKQFjMGNzQG1BEkFEowX13ySwMn185XFzIgcSdD0ZGeTK0kR06G2L1023pcWsD-xJI-E0XjgKyUi804JSDXrGJpxiR8RSnLmhQ/s1600/IMG_7105.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxUG5L9N_FQwHnHOrBIwdrISjWVU-wgpX759kaAiLxH2zKQFjMGNzQG1BEkFEowX13ySwMn185XFzIgcSdD0ZGeTK0kR06G2L1023pcWsD-xJI-E0XjgKyUi804JSDXrGJpxiR8RSnLmhQ/s320/IMG_7105.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407129877104953698" /></a><br /><br />After visiting with the ladies, we headed over to check out one of the plantation’s big “attractions,” nine of the original slave cabins. They were roomy little brick houses and had various displays in them about slave life. As usual, though most of the info was true, it was extremely slanted so we didn’t bother to read a whole bunch. But as we arrived at the last cabin, a black couple stood up to say hi to us. They had been doing tours of the slave cabins for folks all morning. <br /><br />“Well, hello there, ladies!” the man called out as we walked up. He and his sister greeted us and introduced themselves, as did we. He was quite voluble and went on and on about our “lovely dresses” and bonnets and capes. His sister agreed that we were quite finely dressed. Then he got a twinkle in his eye and said, “Well now, my spirit’s tellin’ me somethin’. My spirit speaks to me and tells me that y’all have come down from the Big House to visit us.” We laughed and fell into the role and agreed that we’d come down to see how they were doing. <br /><br />He was quite entertaining and told us about his Confederate ancestors and the fun they have telling people the true history of the black people in the war. Then he got a twinkle in his eye again. “My spirit’s tellin’ me somethin’ else,” he intoned. “It’s tellin’ me you’re gonna give me money!” We really howled with laughter that time and told him we wished we could. After some more jovial conversation we decided to head back to camp and see how Mom and Dad were doing.<br /><br />We entered the huge wrought iron gate of the mansion and began the trek up the front “sidewalk” (a broad sandy avenue). We were properly impressed by the “big house” even though it is only a 1920s rebuild of the original. As we sauntered up the long walkway we noticed a small opening in the hedge marked by a sign telling us it was the garden entrance. Curious about the garden, we went through it and – well! Were we ever impressed! The gardens of Boone Hall are absolutely gorgeous, even in November! There were still roses blooming and all manner of other flowers and plants flowering. I’m not good at botany so I haven’t the faintest idea of what most of them were, but they were lovely. I took a ton of pictures.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBqIu7iILYfJ56t9KhjnPGXKmmExD8GkK8iHDHDhxKc_nomuKMWo82xXXZA1lV_iyfmrWx8-vFfvno2eskub4XcYZ9nIhz3FXpPtb0F84GaZI2XjZrShcsWazx2nPycLrSFsZnLbHpiifL/s1600/IMG_7132.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBqIu7iILYfJ56t9KhjnPGXKmmExD8GkK8iHDHDhxKc_nomuKMWo82xXXZA1lV_iyfmrWx8-vFfvno2eskub4XcYZ9nIhz3FXpPtb0F84GaZI2XjZrShcsWazx2nPycLrSFsZnLbHpiifL/s320/IMG_7132.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407133952945403730" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7BPP8NPhbM6Jzdbyhf0hjvNiQowjzOH5jNdZir1hkmG-xH3XrClsbZ2YHmmW-z88z-J1gII8x6MS4eOaqhiVgANyvQzWr-hkJQjMWtK3dWNqQPDv-FRcSNaR6QSZJVHc90hS5eEFE89EG/s1600/IMG_7134.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7BPP8NPhbM6Jzdbyhf0hjvNiQowjzOH5jNdZir1hkmG-xH3XrClsbZ2YHmmW-z88z-J1gII8x6MS4eOaqhiVgANyvQzWr-hkJQjMWtK3dWNqQPDv-FRcSNaR6QSZJVHc90hS5eEFE89EG/s320/IMG_7134.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407134903676297170" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtuPIBECD0k38aNMn_uut2dJFMQzGPf0oEajpYr5gY-_D8zTfRLzJTo4ADwWR16K9wFD5bdSFNJLOObj6RLzRkH2anbrnSbgZrIK4p7Ri4Yc49yhQwdqlL5FG8XFnWwnSeizDqPllCWOfQ/s1600/IMG_7136.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtuPIBECD0k38aNMn_uut2dJFMQzGPf0oEajpYr5gY-_D8zTfRLzJTo4ADwWR16K9wFD5bdSFNJLOObj6RLzRkH2anbrnSbgZrIK4p7Ri4Yc49yhQwdqlL5FG8XFnWwnSeizDqPllCWOfQ/s320/IMG_7136.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407135833641987570" /></a><br /><br />As we exited the gardens we found ourselves by the water. I looked it up and found out later that Boone Hall sits on Wampacheeoone Creek. (I have no clue how to pronounce that.) And it looked a lot bigger than a creek to me anyway. At least, when the tide was in, it did! Anyhow, the banks of the creek are lined with marsh grasses and live oaks – one oak was sprawled clear into the water. We hurried back up to the tent to tell Mom and Dad of all the lovely scenery we’d found and take them on a tour.<br /><br />But first things first. Mom was digging out sandwich makin’s so I whopped up a baloney sandwich. Raquelle was getting a little sleepy so after we finished munching, she laid down on the cot for a nap, Dad pleasantly occupied himself explaining Civil War engineering to spectators and Mom and I wandered off to tour the grounds and shop.<br /><br />We stopped off at the PSRS ladies’ tents for a while to chat. One of them was tatting with a shuttle, something I’ve wanted to learn for quite a while. Raquelle and I learned needle-tatting some years ago, but needle tatting wasn’t invented in the 1860s. So to be authentic, we need to learn to use the shuttle. Expressing my desire to learn, I promptly received a quick lesson and took several pictures of the process. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWE2PhlEHC1W7aL-ntOmoDLlEzaSn6hG7l8WfnOm1KBKhyphenhyphenzdq2Xig3w-GlzF0Fr2nCEuFQ4QsqBFZYeLAbXdbfk7RmU2PLooe5F5R33_joitBsOXm3Tr97YcYKu_uzJc4kvdg2_rOn_Tds/s1600/IMG_7106.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWE2PhlEHC1W7aL-ntOmoDLlEzaSn6hG7l8WfnOm1KBKhyphenhyphenzdq2Xig3w-GlzF0Fr2nCEuFQ4QsqBFZYeLAbXdbfk7RmU2PLooe5F5R33_joitBsOXm3Tr97YcYKu_uzJc4kvdg2_rOn_Tds/s320/IMG_7106.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407479263843386690" /></a><br /><br />We also got our first look at the PSRS calendar, a fundraiser to which I contributed several photos. It looked perty nice, if I do say so myself.<br /><br />As Mom and I were coming back through the gardens (which she properly admired) we saw Raquelle and the Sutton ladies approaching and we all spent some time admiring the beautiful flowers and plants. We also set a time to meet them for dinner that evening at the Golden Corral in town. Then Mom, Raqu, and I went on towards the camp and came upon the oaks in the water. <br /><br />Here I must mentioned a regrettable incident. <br /><br />In complete defiance of proper 1860s etiquette, Raquelle and I not only climbed up on the branches of the tree (good thing our ankles were properly covered with drawers and petticoats!) but we acted like total goofballs once we were up there.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh04nATsECagU_xT_NCzFfT1qRvVf0MbnLMBD-kjB1PldIVTWR_GTfslaXLg1S8K9fSNYSbLSnFcQO6PTu6dvk_jTNiNGQQCAnaHWfgtH-4g9vLFL-klSspPWbdLv-9kpJ4hAVaoqLRZX7N/s1600/IMG_7142.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh04nATsECagU_xT_NCzFfT1qRvVf0MbnLMBD-kjB1PldIVTWR_GTfslaXLg1S8K9fSNYSbLSnFcQO6PTu6dvk_jTNiNGQQCAnaHWfgtH-4g9vLFL-klSspPWbdLv-9kpJ4hAVaoqLRZX7N/s320/IMG_7142.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407480266452783506" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXFjUC8lni_2uAJNYP-8nV1iS68dvXEtSStwRG98UwJw_nh0FVpe2d_xA-a-OcZz-4qz5n-IgKXi0Ez_JhW0a46taAvr4QfkCgFKfrt2prNQA9cHAY_qrScMd5gKxdSnXcXDJ0sqa00Jph/s1600/IMG_7146.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXFjUC8lni_2uAJNYP-8nV1iS68dvXEtSStwRG98UwJw_nh0FVpe2d_xA-a-OcZz-4qz5n-IgKXi0Ez_JhW0a46taAvr4QfkCgFKfrt2prNQA9cHAY_qrScMd5gKxdSnXcXDJ0sqa00Jph/s320/IMG_7146.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407481022668371506" /></a><br /><br />But I am heartened to relate that, seeing spectators in the distance, we endeavored to reassume our decorous demeanor and behave like 1860s ladies, albeit still snickering privately.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCckRZDbZ3qaET7S5BT6RpHfO_O_VDPjvEgWJRJxMJfvQuLGGUr9_OfhjPZqKWOpKvBnLt_Yvyx65uTqQJ6TZVv5cCPz9_Jri-emqVjYMWHecZ6Xhj3vnmv-om99XaSd7ZBMkdC8zQPhYf/s1600/IMG_7141.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCckRZDbZ3qaET7S5BT6RpHfO_O_VDPjvEgWJRJxMJfvQuLGGUr9_OfhjPZqKWOpKvBnLt_Yvyx65uTqQJ6TZVv5cCPz9_Jri-emqVjYMWHecZ6Xhj3vnmv-om99XaSd7ZBMkdC8zQPhYf/s320/IMG_7141.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407482256149848050" /></a><br /><br />As the day was now winding down, we helped Dad put all his instruments into the tent and pack up for the night. As we were tidying up, Dad told us of a funny incident. Apparently some of the spectators were confused when they got to his station. They kept asking him, “Where are the engravers?” He finally asked to look at their program and yup, someone had written down “engravers” at Station 14 instead of “engineers.” The funny thing was, one of the organizers came over later in the day and checked out Dad’s setup. “This all looks great,” the man enthused, “but you’ll have to move your site. Station 14 is for the engravers.” Whereupon Dad explained the mistake and they both laughed. I’m still wondering whose bad handwriting caused the misinterpretation.<br /><br />Then we picked up Dad's car and drove the car and van back to the hotel. Now you're probably wondering, "Why on earth did they bother with TWO vehicles? Don't they know there's a recession on?" The answer is simple. Dad likes to be at the campsite at o'dark thirty to set up all his instruments and equipment. This is fine for Dad. Guys can jerk on their pants, whop on a shirt, duck into a coat and rustle on a few appurtenances such as sidearms and hat in a matter of ten minutes. Women, on the other hand, have difficulties. It's not just the chemise, drawers, petticoats, stockings, and cuffs. It's also the hoop skirt, overskirt, bodice, collar, jewelry, shawls and shoes. Not to mention putting your hair up, adjusting your bonnet and packing your purse and carpet bag. So we ladies need a little more time in the morning to get ourselves pulled together. Thus, two vehicles are a marvelous and necessary measure for keeping the peace.<br /><br />So anyway, after divesting ourselves of our hoops, guns, bonnets and wool at the hotel, we popped into our van to follow the Suttons to the Golden Corral. Mr. Sutton believes in using all the horse power available, so it was quite fun to try to keep up with him. However, he was also very nice about pulling off if we got shaved off at a red light. :D <br /><br />At the Golden Corral, we proceeded to spend a couple hours yakking our heads off and stuffing ourselves. Then back to the hotel to iron clothing for the next day and flop into bed.<br /><br />Thus far, I had only managed to take a mere 75 photos. I intended to rectify that little problem the next day. Stay tuned. . .Heather Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03350882971891496288noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3244533696111728633.post-77902149625677775012009-11-22T18:18:00.000-08:002009-11-22T18:38:25.021-08:00Battle of Secessionville - ThursdayWe pulled out Thursday morning and drove to Charleston amid light rain. Supposedly the rain was going to clear out later in the weekend but I was cynically skeptical. However, I did hope the weekend would be a pleasant break from all the stress of producing a CD, sewing a ball dress, putting on a ball, and dealing with the rest of my normal ratrace life.<br /><br />The drive down didn’t exactly bode well. For one thing, the walkie talkies broke. Of course, they’re only about 15 years old so I guess that’s not surprising. We needed the walkies because Dad was in his car and we were in the van towing the trailer. And, um, Dad was the only one who knew where we were going. Fortunately we had our cell phones, although that’s a little bit of a slow process when you’re trying to tell the person behind you to change lanes. :)<br /><br />Half an hour before arriving at Boone Hall plantation we made a quick pit stop at a fast food joint. I noticed a tourist brochure stand and went over to look at it while Dad was getting coffee.Seeing a flyer for Boone Hall, I grabbed it and proceeded to regale Mom and Raquelle with its contents while we drove. I hadn’t known much about the Boone plantation at all, so I was pleasantly surprised to find out how interesting it is. For one thing, the brochure declares that it is “America’s most photographed plantation.” That’s partly because, in 1743, Captain Thomas Boone planted a long avenue of live oak trees which is now an absolutely magnificent sight to behold. Please note my photo of it. Yes, I succumbed to peer pressure and became one of the myriad photographers that makes Boone Hall “America’s most photographed plantation.”<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVfY3VIF_kE19yZTfYapJvkTUoalir8AhwZeFFvGN61pAVKNOQ13eTpAEiSmogdpwQ2FHtV09VySrISl4l5GGhZpywfyPf6lixTzogCxzuT2DACf5isdx0ggm6vaHOnQoMrTp6S5cG3S9h/s1600/IMG_7097.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVfY3VIF_kE19yZTfYapJvkTUoalir8AhwZeFFvGN61pAVKNOQ13eTpAEiSmogdpwQ2FHtV09VySrISl4l5GGhZpywfyPf6lixTzogCxzuT2DACf5isdx0ggm6vaHOnQoMrTp6S5cG3S9h/s320/IMG_7097.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407119257626678418" /></a><br /><br />So amid a light rain, we finally arrived at the entrance of the plantation but a little bitty sign tells us to keep going to the “reenactor’s entrance” ahead. We drive. And drive. And drive. Finally Dad calls us on the cell phone and says maybe we should turn around. “Well,” I observed, “the flyer says the plantation is over 730 acres so let’s at least keep going to the corner.” Sure enough, at the corner there’s another little bitty sign telling us to turn left. We do and drive another quarter mile before FINALLY finding a sign that points to the elusive reenactor entrance.<br /><br />It’s now cold and misty and we hike through puddles in the sandy soil to the registration tent. Fortunately, even though the plantation is huge, there’s a pretty good map in the program so we’re able to figure out where to go to set up. We’re in the living history area, Station 14. (Yes, believe it or not, but they were organized enough to LABEL all the living history stations with numbers on stakes.)<br /><br />The living history area is a big grassy spot behind the mansion itself. It’s full of live oaks and pecan trees all draped with Spanish moss. It also has a covered pavilion in the center. Lest you are picturing an old-fashioned pavilion constructed say, of wood or brick, in keeping with the rest of the plantation’s historical atmosphere, let me set you straight. It is a strange white monstrosity that Raquelle immediately christened the Denver Airport. Anyone who has flown into the Denver airport will understand the name.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJpWg5vRo6begsNka2JQ3vJIdeoPkJ8ioXKU0rswUvV8cTn_mmEY9hKg9kOx9wDkzPdGTIDAVEZaZGet_wukGmawicqbAGSGQBRYEXfdHMCYtFCMVwOs9kYVDAH7oy9PIrrEzBnhWU6OiE/s1600/IMG_2437.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJpWg5vRo6begsNka2JQ3vJIdeoPkJ8ioXKU0rswUvV8cTn_mmEY9hKg9kOx9wDkzPdGTIDAVEZaZGet_wukGmawicqbAGSGQBRYEXfdHMCYtFCMVwOs9kYVDAH7oy9PIrrEzBnhWU6OiE/s320/IMG_2437.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407120868611811010" /></a><br /><center><i>A pic of the Denver airport we took in September</i></center><br /><br />I corrected her, however, and said it looked like the Denver airport on a budget.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ_r4gbAfYJtAjL_wGmpNMQ40u_fhICbsBla6EYVkvQZ47o0OQwgps0kJIbnf5y2E0BQOoFv8dA5ndbCTs4tuoFyiay7r10-IQxl3iN95jHs3PQAPOjN_VyQjMhPU-AYrEqWcUyce4Tz-T/s1600/IMG_7542.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ_r4gbAfYJtAjL_wGmpNMQ40u_fhICbsBla6EYVkvQZ47o0OQwgps0kJIbnf5y2E0BQOoFv8dA5ndbCTs4tuoFyiay7r10-IQxl3iN95jHs3PQAPOjN_VyQjMhPU-AYrEqWcUyce4Tz-T/s320/IMG_7542.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407122543951909106" /></a><br /><br />Be that as it may, a clearly marked number 14 showed us where to set up, which was good because there wasn’t much else to guide us in that large space. We proceeded to whop the two tents up in no time. The flies took longer to put up than usual, however, because the light rain was now accompanied by 20 mph gusting winds. We finally got the whole thing put up and then headed for the hotel to warm up, dry off, and find a restaurant.<br /><br />A funny thing happened as Dad and I were walking across the field to load up. A big, burly, white-haired fellow with a flowing beard hollered hello across the field at us so we went over to say hi. He gave us each a hug and asked how we were doing. Then he looked at me and said, “You do that web newsletter, right?” I had no idea what he was talking about. “You know,” he insisted, “that ladies newsletter on the web!” It finally dawned on me that he was talking about the Palmetto Soldiers Relief Society (PSRS) newsletter. Mom and I actually co-edit it and another gal posts it on the website. “I LOVE that newsletter!” the guy enthused. “I love the pictures and the articles and everything! When’s the next issue?” I was totally kerflumoxed that a big ole burly dude like him would even be reading our ladies newsletter in the first place, much less enjoying it! J But now that I think of it, I guess it’s pretty interesting with all the reenactment reports and pictures and stuff.<br /><br />Anyway, as we walked away from the guy, Dad turned to me and said, “Who was that?” I broke into laughter and exclaimed, “I have no idea!” We figured out later he’s the guy who is provost at Battle of Aiken. He always camps next to us at Aiken so he recognized us at once. But for us, you’ve seen one big hairy reenactor, you’ve seen ‘em all. :giggle: Anyway, he was a real nice fella.<br /><br />We finally got ourselves to the hotel and began carrying stuff up to our rooms. As we were unloading, someone drove up and yelled, “We don’t want any harpists here!” Turns out it was our friends the Suttons. They knew we were attending this reenactment and had asked ahead of time which hotel we’d be at so they could stay at the same one and get in a little visit time with us. The funny thing is that the hotel staff put them in the room right beside us!<br /><br />They had already eaten dinner so we headed out to a Cracker Barrel for ours. After a full supper, we warmed ourselves by the big fire (and Raqu incidentally beat Mom at checkers) and then headed back to the hotel to get stuff laid out for the next morning. I was excited about the upcoming weekend after seeing the plantation. Even the brief glimpse we got was enough to tell me we were going to be in a picturesque environment and I couldn’t wait to start taking pictures.Heather Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03350882971891496288noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3244533696111728633.post-32671919430675169382009-08-02T07:20:00.001-07:002009-08-03T10:48:27.463-07:00Tennessee Reunion, Day 2<strong>Item:</strong> Today (as in today-today, August 1) I found my missing sunglasses.<br /><br /><strong>Item:</strong> Heather esplained to me that I have to esplain to you that SHE is HELPING me write this BLOG and therefore it's BINXUS of me to get ALL the credit and y'all need to be sure and give HER credit TOO. (But only a little. Haw haw!)<br /><br />(<strong>Binxus:</strong> adj., 1. <em>Of, or pertaining to, badness and/or orneriness</em>.)<br /><br /><br /><strong>Monday</strong><br /><br /><strong>Lowlight:</strong> I went to sleep around 2:30 a.m., I think. Monday morning came way too early.<br /><br /><span style="color:#000099;"><strong>Heather:<br />Lowlight:</strong> At 6:00 am, some cheerful person popped out of bed and bipped into the bathroom. BANG! The bathroom door had a decisively truculent slam.<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> I went back to sleep. For about two minutes.<br /><br /><strong>Lowlight:</strong> The original BANG! woke up three other people, who got up and went into the bathroom too.<br />BANG! BANG! BANG!<br /><br /><strong>Really Lowlight:</strong> Then those people remembered things they had forgotten in their suitcases so they came back out to get them.<br />BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!<br /><br /><strong>Exceedingly Dim Lowlight:</strong> Then some more people woke up and decided to join the party.<br />BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!<br /><br /><strong>Wavering Candlelight:</strong> Then some of them were ready to go for the day and so they headed out of the dorm.<br />CREEEEEEEAK BANG! (The dorm door apparently had arthritis and a bad temper to boot.)<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> By this time (7 am) I gave up my beauty rest for lost, and got up. Throwing on some clothes and washing my face, I headed out of the bathroom (BANG!) and the dorm (CREEEEEEEEAK BANG!) and into the early morning sunshine. I felt incredibly virtuous for getting up that early. :preen:<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Meandering over to last night's fire pit to enjoy my Bible reading amid the chirping of the birds. Several other gals had the same idea as me, and by the time I finished reading, we all decided to go on a walk. Breakfast wasn't till 8:30 and it was only 7:30.<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> So it was me, Linnae, Grace, Jill, Jennifer, Jason Craig, and a couple other guys who finally set off on a walk. Fog had rolled in by this time and everything was wet and woodsy and mysterious looking. I could just imagine some elves or fauns lurking in the trees... although it was much more likely there were snakes and poison ivy. We stayed on the road, however, and so did not have to deal with any woodland wildlife, elvish, snakey or otherwise.<br /><br /><strong>Funny incident:</strong> About a mile down the road, we were finally passed by the first car we'd seen. A big ole redneck pickup slowed down next to use with a large black dog's nose poking inquiringly out of the window. "Good mornin'," the redneck feller called out. "My dog loves to greet ever'one we pass and she shore would like a pet from y'all!" We obliging stepped up and pet the dog and the feller drove off with a cheerful wave. That incident didn't particularly surprise me since we live in redneck country, but apparently it was a new experience for some of my fellow walkers and they giggled about it for quite a while.<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> We came back from the walk feeling virtuous and hungry.<br /></span><br /><strong>Raquelle: </strong>All right, all right, blog hog. I'm tellin' this story too, ya know!<br /><br /><strong>Lowlight:</strong> All those annoying girls who got up at 6:00 a.m. Wait, Heather already told you about them. But really, I can't fathom why in the world anyone would want to get up at 6:00 a.m., 2.5 hours before breakfast, ON PURPOSE. Can you? I laid in bed trying to ignore them, thinking things not lawful to be uttered and planning to write a Nasty Sign to put on the bathroom door telling people to KEEP QUIET, there are OLD FOGEYS sleeping in here!<br /><br /><a href="http://images.icanhascheezburger.com/completestore/2009/2/25/128801054939998738.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 500px; HEIGHT: 375px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://images.icanhascheezburger.com/completestore/2009/2/25/128801054939998738.jpg" /></a><br /><br />Finally I pried myself out of my bunk and ironed an outfit, using my blanket as an ironing board.<br /><br />Oh, did I tell you about the iron? Heather and I had a Big Discussion about bringing the iron. I won. She thought I was an idiot. But c'mon, who wants to go around looking like your clothes have been wadded up inside an Easter egg all day? This is Miss Prissy Raquelle we're talking about here!<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> I counted at least three other irons in the dorm. I wasn't the only Miss Prissy. Yay!<br /><br /><span style="color:#000099;"><strong>Heather:<br />Double highlight:</strong> Breakfast more than exceeded my expectations.<br /><br /><strong>Elaboration:</strong> Maybe I should elaborate on my expectations. Ahem. Having been to many rustic camps over the years, I had become used to Camp Food. I do not by this mean to imply that I had come to LIKE Camp Food. Only that I was used to it. Camp Food consists of cold, partially cooked piles of glop that bear a faint resemblance to certain well-known dishes like eggs, casseroles, soups and such. There are usually some accompanying rubbery pancakes or old dead rolls as well. This is what I was expecting. And let me assure you that I would not have been at all dismayed by being served such Camp Food, as it is not the easiest thing in the world to cook for 60 people.<br /><br /><strong>HOWEVER.</strong> I here and now wish to give credit where credit is due: Mrs. Reynolds, Mrs. Voorhees and their accompanying helpers turned out some Truly Awesome food. Breakfast was farm-fresh, free-range eggs (courtesy of Kamon's chickens), homemade apple cake that was Highly Yummy, and plenty of juice and fruit. I decidedly pigged out.<br /></span><br /><strong>Raquelle:<br />Highlight:</strong> I know, I know, Heather already mentioned the apple cake but can I mention it again? It was delicious! I had seconds.<br /><br /><a href="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/IMG_4801.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 603px; HEIGHT: 316px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/IMG_4801.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/IMG_4788-1.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 638px; HEIGHT: 424px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/IMG_4788-1.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Enjoying the pleasant weather this morning. Several of us girls meandered out to the picnic tables where the bonfire had been and played spoons.<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> I got to use my cute little cat-lovers deck of cards for spoons. Awww, pwecious.<br /><br /><a href="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/IMG_4823.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 530px; HEIGHT: 341px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/IMG_4823.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_x4kKZxoTE_0/SnImze-OFXI/AAAAAAAAPPg/6n5Y4JS84ZA/s720/IMG_4821.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 720px; HEIGHT: 480px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_x4kKZxoTE_0/SnImze-OFXI/AAAAAAAAPPg/6n5Y4JS84ZA/s720/IMG_4821.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><strong>Giggle moment:</strong> Watching Michaela play spoons. She was so intent on her cards she missed the spoon almost every time. They say that a person who can concentrate on anything for three minutes can rule the world, so watch out world, here comes Michaela. (Sorry, I hafta pick on you a little, Michaela! )<br /><br /><span style="color:#000099;"><strong>Heather:<br />Highlight:</strong> Watching everyone play spoons and knowing that Raquelle had enough playmates that she didn't need me to play with her. I detest playing games.<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Taking a nap on a picnic table. No really, it wasn't much harder than the bunk was, and it was in the shade with a soft breeze blowing by.<br /><br /><strong>Suspected Lowlight:</strong> I believe some rascals took my picture while I was napping. I unfortunately woke up too late to catch them in the act.<br /></span><br /><strong>Raquelle:<br />Highlight:</strong> Not being a part of the frisbee game. Heather came by and said folks were playing frisbee.<br /><br />"Ultimate Frisbee?" someone asked eagerly.<br /><br />"No," she said. "They're just throwing a frisbee. Badly."<br /><br /><a href="http://images.icanhascheezburger.com/completestore/2008/6/15/heshootshesc128580643991220895.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 500px; HEIGHT: 373px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://images.icanhascheezburger.com/completestore/2008/6/15/heshootshesc128580643991220895.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Also NOT being part of the Gaggle Of Expeditioners Who Ran Into Some Ticks. The effect was something like this:<br /><br /><em>Me(sitting complacently at picnic table with bug repellent): "Hi so-and-so!"<br /><br />WHIZZ! (Speeding blur goes by):<span style="font-size:180%;"> Yaaaagh-I-have-ticks</span>-<span style="font-size:130%;">g'byyyy</span>yyy<span style="font-size:85%;">yyy</span><span style="font-size:78%;">yye.</span><br /><br />Me: *settles messed-up hair from breeze created by speeding blur*<br /><br />Repeat.<br /></em><br />It was sorta like this:<br /><br /><a href="http://icanhascheezburger.wordpress.com/files/2009/07/funny-pictures-cats-have-a-spaz-attack.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 500px; HEIGHT: 374px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://icanhascheezburger.wordpress.com/files/2009/07/funny-pictures-cats-have-a-spaz-attack.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><strong>Item:</strong> There are advantages to being a prissy little prig who doesn't go expeditioning through the woods like Lewis and Clark.<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Messing around in the kitchen and helping fix the lemonade and sweet tea for the afternoon. You know the old saying about how a watched pot never boils? It's true. Especially when it's a giant pot. Once we got the water heated we opted to scoop it out with the coffeepot, as no one felt particularly inclined to pick up a giant pot of boiling water.<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Going back to the dorm and taking a nap. Yes, indeedy. A nap. It was nice.<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Yummy chicken pitas for lunch. Mmmmm!<br /><br /><span style="color:#000099;"><strong>Heather:<br />Highlight:</strong> Did we mention the awesome chicken pitas for lunch??? It deserves a rerun. And of course, ham sandwiches for those silly guys who looked suspiciously at anything that wasn't obviously meat, beans or potatoes.<br /></span><br /><a href="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/IMG_4830-1.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 308px; HEIGHT: 265px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/IMG_4830-1.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/IMG_4867-1.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 453px; HEIGHT: 398px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/IMG_4867-1.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/IMG_4810-1.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 344px; HEIGHT: 391px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/IMG_4810-1.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><strong>Raquelle:<br />Lowlight:</strong> Somebody had Messed With the picture of Spike on the poster board.<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> My daddy wasn't a Boy Scout for nothing. Daddy says the Boy Scout motto is "Be Prepared" and I learned this lesson as a youngster sitting on Daddy's knees learning the song about "Be-prepared-prepared-prepared-the-motto-of-the-Boy-Scouts, be-prepared-prepared-prepared-prepared-the-motto-of-the-Scouts....." I brought no less than FIVE copies of Spike's picture. I replaced the damaged copy with TWO copies and felt Inordinately Smug.<br /><br />By the way, you should know what was on the board by now. Aside from a few boring announcements and the schedule, there were as follows:<br /><br /><em>Scheduled bear visitation: 3:00 a.m.<br />Taxidermy lab: 4:45 a.m. ($5)<br />Bear disposal: 6:20 a.am. (free class!)<br />Breakfast: 8:30 a.m. ($20) vegan option available</em><br /><br />And next to Spike, there were such things as "Monorail kitteh comes to end of line" and "death to catz" and (under the second copy) "copy cat." Oh, and "reb cat."<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Clowning with Sara in the dorm about my concealed weapons permit. I believe the promised threat on the reunion thread was going to be, "Stick 'em up, I've got a PERMIT," so I was trying it out. Sara wasn't impressed.<br /><br /><a href="http://images.icanhascheezburger.com/completestore/2008/10/20/128689982366824518.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 448px; HEIGHT: 336px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://images.icanhascheezburger.com/completestore/2008/10/20/128689982366824518.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/IMG_4831-1.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 638px; HEIGHT: 424px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/IMG_4831-1.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/IMG_4833-1.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 523px; HEIGHT: 377px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/IMG_4833-1.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Sneaking around in the dorm assembling the gift bags for the planning committee. Sara joined us, writing some thank-you notes while we packed.<br /><br /><strong>Giggle moment:</strong> Mrs. V. and Mrs. R. (as in, gift bag recipients) both chose that time to come into the dorm and Do Things for the next hour or so. In fact, Mrs. V. unwittingly walked right over to our bunks (strewn with gifts) to start chatting with us. Heather hastily stood in front of the beds to try to block the view.<br /><br /><strong>'Nother giggle moment:</strong> Several folks had donated cash for the gift bags. Someone gave me a $20 bill and I fished out my wallet and changed it to two $10 bills so I could put one in each bag. I set the money with the other things and continued sorting. But then when I went to tuck the money into the thank-you note cards, I couldn't find it.<br /><br />"I must have gotten distracted and put it all back in my wallet," I muttered confusedly. I reached for my wallet only to hear Sara--Miss Chawming, Innocent, Swayt Li'l Sara--cackling fiendishly.<br /><br />"I took it, I took it," she howled, forking over a handful of rumpled bills.<br /><br />You can believe I counted it all closely after that piece of Highly Shocking Behavior. I wouldn't have thought it of her, would you? But now I know. If you're around Sara........watch your back. I mean, she doesn't care what kind of trauma she puts you through, ya know?<br /><br /><a href="http://images.icanhascheezburger.com/completestore/2008/10/13/128683883700645262.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 450px; HEIGHT: 553px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://images.icanhascheezburger.com/completestore/2008/10/13/128683883700645262.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><span style="color:#000099;"><strong>Heather:<br />Highlight:</strong> Meandering out to the sports field to watch the games - and not having to participate. Did I mention that I detest games?<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Chatting with Mrs. G, Mrs. F, and other ladies sitting on the sidelines. It was a truly gorgeous day and we enjoyed the weather and the fellowship.</span><br /><br /><strong>Raquelle:<br />Highlight:</strong> The chocolate party mid-afternoon. Good chocolate and good stories! Let's see....who was it that accidentally made soft pretzels out of cornstarch instead of flour? And I think it was Grace who caught the oven on fire while making a grand cookie crust experiment. I told the story about tipping my desk over in Sunday School and Heather told about time she accidentally got a snake stuck in her dress. (Ask her about it. )<br /><br /><a href="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/chocparty.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 639px; HEIGHT: 426px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/chocparty.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://images.icanhascheezburger.com/completestore/2008/5/20/dietdiaryday128557404077488636.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 404px; HEIGHT: 268px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://images.icanhascheezburger.com/completestore/2008/5/20/dietdiaryday128557404077488636.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Going on a walk after the chocolate party. Actually, wait....I think I went on a walk by myself in search of Heather, because Heather had the charged cell phone. But I didn't KNOW she had the charged cell phone and I was trying to FIND her to ask where it WAS and turns out she had it in her POCKET. Sheesh.<br /><br /><span style="color:#000099;"><strong>Heather:</strong> What actually happened was that I went on a walk with Jill, after fruitlessly searching for Raquelle to go with us. Jill and I solved the world's problems and had a lovely saunter.<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> TRYING to find my SISTER who was TRYING to find ME and finally FINDING her after we got back from the walk.<br /><br /><strong>Lowlight:</strong> TRYING to call Mom on the cell phone. Uh, phone coverage wasn't so good out there. Though we were lucky. Some folks didn't have any coverage at all. My conversations with Mom usually went like this:<br /><br />Me: Hi Mom, can you hear me?<br />Mom: I...(crackle, crackle)...having a good....what's.... ARE YOU THERE? (The last part needlessly twice as loud because the sound suddenly got better)<br />Me: Yes, I'm here. Can you hear me now? I'm walking across the bridge.<br />Mom: Yes, that's better. So what have you.... (silence) .... (silence) ....<br />Me: Hang on, I must have walked into a dead spot. There, how's that? Can you hear me now?<br />Mom: (crackle, crackle)... had nice day... how....you girls?... (silence)<br />Me: Hold on, maybe if I hang upside down from the bridge, the coverage will be better.<br /><br />You get the idea.</span><br /><br /><a href="http://images.icanhascheezburger.com/completestore/2008/12/26/128747639793982582.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 500px; HEIGHT: 351px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://images.icanhascheezburger.com/completestore/2008/12/26/128747639793982582.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><span style="color:#000099;"><strong>Dubious Highlight:</strong> Having Jason S. and crew show up in the middle of us gals solving the world's problems - and he assured us that HE was the solution to the world's problems. I'm still trying to decide if that was heartening news or not.<br /><br /><strong>Entertaining Highlight:</strong> Listening to Jason S., Joe, Chadwick, Jason C., and some other guys solve the world's problems. Their solutions, needless to say, were different than OURS. However, the conversation was exceedingly lively (no one was thrown off the bridge, but I do believe it was threatened, in a friendly sort of way ). I believe it covered such topics as vegetarianism, veganism, presidential candidates, the definition of swearing, and a great deal of politics.<br /></span><br /><a href="http://images.icanhascheezburger.com/completestore/2009/3/19/128819269306130066.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 499px; HEIGHT: 664px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://images.icanhascheezburger.com/completestore/2009/3/19/128819269306130066.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><strong>Raquelle:<br />Highlight:</strong> Going back to the dorm to fix myself up for the evening dance and using my chawming IRON to touch up my blouse.<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Presenting the gift bags at supper. Thanks again to everyone!<br /><br /><a href="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/IMG_4876-1.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 615px; HEIGHT: 311px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/IMG_4876-1.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><span style="color:#000099;"><strong>Heather:</strong> Even to the folks who literally dropped their gifts in the bag as we were carrying them up to the front. :chuckles:<br /></span><br /><strong>Raquelle<br />Minor lowlight:</strong> Getting so carried away doing the gift bag presentation that by the time I got back my plate my spaghetti was cold. Wups.<br /><br /><a href="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/IMG_4857-1.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 512px; HEIGHT: 377px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/IMG_4857-1.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><strong>Lowlight:</strong> I was on KP duty after supper.<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> I had a Cute New Apron to wear for KP duty.<br /><br /><a href="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/IMG_4881.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 639px; HEIGHT: 426px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/IMG_4881.jpg" /></a><br /><br />Should I tell you the little secret about my apron?<br /><br /><em>(Confession about to ensue)<br /></em><br />I was, uh, actually supposed to be finishing my own costume and working on a new ball dress for Mom, not to mention a bunch of other Stuff With Deadlines, but I got this bright idea a week before the trip to sew a cute li'l apron. But I knew if I told Mom I was going to sew an apron I'd get one of those motherly Instructive Moments, wherein your mother sensibly reminds you that you have ENOUGH to do and why are you getting sidetracked on a comPLETEly unnecessary little project like that? And reminds you that you'll be pinging uncontrollably before the trip because you didn't manage your time well. And have you done your chores yet today, Raquelle? At which point I would scuff my toe sheepishly on the carpet and slink off to go be responsible, carrying my sad, blighted apron hopes in a secret lonely place in my heart. Oh gosh, I'm getting sniffly. *bawls*<br /><br />So I, uh, craftily snuck the fabric home from Walmart and worked on it when she wasn't around. Haw haw!!!! I swore Heather to secrecy and even roped her into doing the buttonholes for me. Mom didn't find out about it she and Dad arrived for the evening dance and Heather spilled the beans. I came waltzing into the dorm from KP duty and got one of those Long-Suffering Motherly Looks from Mom.<br /><br />This is probably how all the criminals start out....hiding stuff from their moms. Al Capone probably made dozens of aprons without his mother knowing it.<br /><br /><span style="color:#000099;"><strong>Heather:</strong> I have absolutely no comment to make about this little shenanigan. :makes no comment:<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Mom and Dad showing up after having been sightseeing all day. They were raring to go for some dancing!<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Getting wound up talking over the day with Mom and forgetting till the last minute to change into my skirt for the dancing.<br /><br /><strong>SUPER HIGHLIGHT:</strong> DANCING!!!!<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Getting to dance every dance if I wanted to (I didn't, I sat out one or two to take pictures).<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Getting to dance as a girl.<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Getting to dance with guys who liked dancing.<br /></span><br /><a href="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/Gregdance1.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 627px; HEIGHT: 639px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/Gregdance1.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/Gregdance2.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 611px; HEIGHT: 640px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/Gregdance2.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/Gregdance31.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 593px; HEIGHT: 640px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/Gregdance31.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><span style="color:#000099;"><strong>Highlight:</strong> Mom and Dad getting to dance and have a fun time. They love dancing so it was really fun for them! They left around 11 pm, I think. Unfortunately, they left before the swing dancing started, or I think they would have stayed later. But they had an hour drive back to their hotel so they wanted to get going.<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Look, everything about the dance was a "highlight" so this "highlight" stuff is getting old. We need a new adjective. Ahem.<br /><br /><strong>Memorable Moment:</strong> Watching Kamon swing dance. Or something. Heavy on the "or something." He assured us later that he didn't have any more idea of what he was going to do than we did. This was rather unfortunate for his partners, but Highly Hilarious for the rest of us. I'm positive the floor was smoking when he was finished. I wish I'd taken more pictures of it, but I was rather engrossed watching and forgot about the camera.<br /></span><br /><a href="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/Guysdance1.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 566px; HEIGHT: 639px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/Guysdance1.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/Guysdance2.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 568px; HEIGHT: 639px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/Guysdance2.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/Guysdance31.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 416px; HEIGHT: 640px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/Guysdance31.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><span style="color:#000099;"><strong>Fascinating Focal Point:</strong> Homemade brownies and cookies.<br /><br /><strong>Clever Climax:</strong> All the guys getting inspired by Kamon (or possibly the brownies) and demonstrating their (non) skills in creative dance efforts.<br /><br /><strong>Hilarious High Spot:</strong> Three of the guys trying to do some line dance thingie on their own.<br /><br /><strong>Fun Frolic:</strong> Me getting to swing dance, even though I don't swing dance very well. Jason S. claims Mom and Dad taught him swing dance last year at the HSA reunion, and he certainly was good at it this year. I did swing dancing with some other guys too, and I also did a very exciting and memorable polka with Stacy. I only agreed to do it with him (I'm terrible at polkas) because I knew he'd hang on to me if I fell. :snicker:<br /></span><br /><a href="http://images.icanhascheezburger.com/completestore/2008/7/28/128617424060202205.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 417px; HEIGHT: 541px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://images.icanhascheezburger.com/completestore/2008/7/28/128617424060202205.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/IMG_4936-1.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 340px; HEIGHT: 510px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/IMG_4936-1.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><strong>Raquelle:</strong><br />Gee, I let Heather write a little bit of stuff and she steals all my thunder. Pretend you didn't read all that stuff. 'Cause I already wrote MY version and don't want to delete it. (Yes, we are actually writing this at the same time and sending each other stuff back and forth every ten minutes or so, it's fun.)<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Dancing. *smirk* My favorites were Marie's Wedding (duh) and "Road to Spencer." Wow, was "Road to Spencer" FUN!!!!!!!<br /><br /><strong>Giggle moment:</strong> Asking a couple of guys if they would come over and dance with Michaela and Anna's little sisters. The littlest sister (Lydia?) gave her tall would-be partner (Joe, I think) one appalled look from her two-foot vantage point and turned to me with enormous frightened eyes. "I'd rather dance with YOU!" she announced emphatically. Poor guy. Talk about a blow to your self-esteem. Rejected....by a 6-year-old. Gee. Sorry Joe!<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Okay, this is going to sound silly.<br /><br />Nah, I won't say it.<br /><br />Yes, I will.<br /><br />No, I won't.<br /><br /><strong><span style="color:#000099;">Heather: SPIT IT OUT!!!!<br /></span></strong><br />Okay. It was fun to get to go to a dance and actually dance the girl's part most of the evening. That seldom happens at our local ECD group.<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Doing a short polka with Stacy and not A) getting knocked down or B) knocking anyone else down. Unlike my sister, I am NOT terrible at polkas. I have polka'd on more than one occasion, once at a Civil War ball where everyone else dropped out and it was just me and my (experienced) partner showing off for all to see. See? I might be a prissy little prig but I'm not completely faint of heart. (Polkas are not for the faint of heart.)<br /><br /><a href="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/IMG_4932-1.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 340px; HEIGHT: 510px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/IMG_4932-1.jpg" /></a><br /><br />Incidentally, I might be prissy little prig but I'm also not completely faint of heart because I can clean up any kind of (disgusting) cat mess you can imagine. Without flinching. So there.<br /><br />*tries to think of other ways to demonstrate her non-prissy-prigness*<br /><br />*fails*<br /><br /><span style="color:#000099;"><strong>Heather:</strong> Back on topic, Raquelle. Stick to the OP.<br /></span><br /><strong>Raquelle:</strong> *removes Heather from Friend's List*<br /><br /><a href="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/IMG_4945-1.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 429px; HEIGHT: 424px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/IMG_4945-1.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Swing dancing with Jason S. Jason's swing dance skills are lookin' good, folks! *accepts $5 from Jason*<br /><br /><a href="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/IMG_4988-1.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 317px; HEIGHT: 381px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/IMG_4988-1.jpg" /></a><br /><br />By the way, Jason is an awesome guy. *accepts another $5 from Jason*<br /><br />Oh, and he's planning to become a Confederate. *clutches wildly to her $10 as Jason tries to snatch them back. *<br /><br /><a href="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/IMG_4986-1.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 513px; HEIGHT: 401px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/IMG_4986-1.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><span style="color:#000099;"><strong>Heather:</strong> So anyway, lights were supposed to be out at midnight, or we'd all turn into pumpkins. So around 11:45 we reluctantly headed for the dorms and got ready for bed.<br /></span><br /><strong>Raquelle:<br />Highlight:</strong> I made a Nasty Sign for the bathroom door, saying "BE QUIET, I'M SLEEPING" or words to that effect.<br /><br /><span style="color:#000099;"><strong>Heather:</strong> I fixed the dadgum bathroom door before bedtime. You see, as a Professional Napper, I know all about how to deal with obstreperous doors that boink you awake right in the middle of dream about the Handsome Prince. I have successfully silenced the impudent POP our bedroom door makes, not to mention the shuddering rumble the closet door emits. And then there's the inviting CREEEEEEEEAK the front door lets out, besides the earth-shattering slam of the back door. So, as I say, my resume is replete with bested doors.<br /><br />This particular door was no problem at all. One sock + two rubber bands was all I needed. Viola! No more BANG!s at 6 am. Don't clap, just throw money.<br /><br />Funny thing, but I fell asleep in about five minutes flat this time.<br /></span><br />Raquelle: I did too. I think.<br /><br />By the way, there were some really odd ducks at this event:<br /><a href="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/IMG_4900-1.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 574px; HEIGHT: 366px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/IMG_4900-1.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/Tony.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 480px; HEIGHT: 480px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/Tony.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/IMG_4795-1.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 637px; HEIGHT: 422px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/IMG_4795-1.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br />Oh, and this one's for Marcos and Chadwick....<br /><a href="http://images.icanhascheezburger.com/completestore/2008/7/6/omgbacon128598548326239036.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 500px; HEIGHT: 332px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://images.icanhascheezburger.com/completestore/2008/7/6/omgbacon128598548326239036.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><strong>Now, since this was like a double-blog post because two people were writing it, that means it should get double comments. Everyone has to leave TWO remarks. Right?</strong>Heather Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03350882971891496288noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3244533696111728633.post-4744089340569638582009-07-31T18:58:00.000-07:002009-08-01T11:00:27.758-07:00Tennessee or Bust!<div align="left"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#cc0000;"><strong>Join me one and all for thuh-rilling escapades of the Tennessee HSA reunion!</strong></span><br /><br /><em><strong>HSA reunion:</strong> n., singular. 1. A collection of unsocialized individuals. 2. That which is hair-raising, chocolate-infested, and hilarious. 3. Of, or pertaining to, insomnia.</em><br /><br />We begin, friends, frogs, Romans, and countrymen, with Sunday. Nah, we begin with Saturday evening.<br /><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Saturday evening:</span></strong><br /><br /><strong>Lowlight:</strong> I wasn't wound or hyper, but I COULD NOT GET TO SLEEP. This was the second night in a row that I COULD NOT GET TO SLEEP. This put me in a Vastly Foul Mood, not even consolable by chocolate.<br /><br />Okay, now we can go on to...........<br /><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Sunday morning:</span></strong><br /><br /><strong>Lowlight:</strong> Getting up early and staggering around half asleep for an hour in aforesaid Vastly Foul Mood.<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Leaving almost on time. (Did you know that the clan motto of our Scottish clan is "Late, but in earnest?" And no, I'm not making this up.)<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Rounding the first curve in the road and watching a pile of junk tip over onto Heather, who was happily nestled in a little bed in the back on the floor of the van. She was pretty ticked, you shoulda seen it. :D We, uh, pulled off and reorganized the back a little. Late, but in earnest, late, but in earnest.<br /><br /><span style="color:#000099;"><strong>Heather:</strong> It was NOT funny.</span><br /><br /><strong>Lowlight:</strong> Driving 8 hours. Who planned this thing in TN, anyway? Next year, we're holding it in South Carolina, got it? Er, wait, that means I'd have to plan it.....um.....never mind.<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Listening to my favorite sleepy piano music on my new MP3 player. Everybody in the family categorically hands-down can't STAND my favorite sleepy piano music CDs, so my MP3 player has been Most Satisfactory.<br /><br />You don't really care about all these trivial insignificant details, do you? Rats.<br /><br /><span style="color:#000099;"><strong>Highlight from Heather:</strong> Taking my morning nap, afternoon nap, and evening nap all in one! I figured I'd better get caught up on sleep before we got there. :snicker:</span><br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Stopping at a gas station three hours from the camp and unexpectedly running into Kamon and Co., Josh and Jeremy and Co., and an assorted gaggle of other HSAers. INVASION!!! INVASION!!!! Yay!<br /><br /><strong>Lowlight:</strong> Not ONE of them gave me chocolate. *sniff*<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Getting to Mom and Dad's hotel and squeezing in a quick nap, while Mom and Dad went to Walmart to replace certain forgotten brushes and combs (not mine) and to purchase a few last-minute fabulous luxuries for the girl's dorm, such as a box of kleenexes.<br /><br /><span style="color:#000099;"><strong>Heather:</strong> I had caught up on naps, so I read Louis L'Amour instead.</span><br /><br /><strong>Lowlight:</strong> Listening to the GPS instead of Mapquest and getting hopelessly, thoroughly, revoltingly LOST trying to get to the camp. We took A Very Scenic Route. We finally stopped at a redneck house where there were people in the front yard and asked them. And I do mean quintessential redneck--the kind with assorted rusting vehicles laced with kudzu, flotsam and jetsam dotting the yard, a gaggle of barking dogs, and grizzled tattooed fellas with thick twangs. However, "quintessential redneck" typically means "friendly redneck" and they obligingly gave us accurate directions to the camp, which was just a few miles away.<br /><br /><span style="color:#000099;"><strong>Heather:</strong> As it turned out, we got lost on the <em>way</em> to camp in order to avoid getting lost <em>in</em> the camp. We pulled into the back side of the camp and wound up right at the lodge. Everyone else apparently meandered through the camp for four miles, getting lost.</span><br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Arriving and saying hi to [insert your name here so you feel special].<br /><br /><span style="color:#000099;"><strong>Heather:</strong> :inserts her name and feels special:</span><br /><br /><strong>Highlight: </strong>The girl's dorm, although rustic, was much better than I expected. I have stayed in far smaller, grubbier, rattier (and buggier) places. Heather and I took bunks at the very end, which kept us away from the noise and the door and placed us strategically close to the only alcove in the building, which allowed us a place to store our piles and piles of STUFF unnoticed. We ended up bunking with Priscilla (aka "Kitty") and Jody S.<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Some of other girls brought as much STUFF as we did. Whew!<br /><br /></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 293px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 324px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/IMG_4756-1.jpg" /> <em><strong>Can you believe how much STUFF Priscilla brought? :D :D<br /></strong></em><br /><br /><p align="left"><a href="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/IMG_4754-1-1.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 431px; HEIGHT: 420px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/IMG_4754-1-1.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><strong>Lowlight:</strong> I lost my sunglasses. </p><strong>Highlight:</strong> I knew I would lose my sunglasses, so I brought an extra pair. (It's called "compensating.")<br /><br /><strong>Lowlight:</strong> Trying to make my bed. Exactly HOW does one tuck a sheet around the far corner of a mattress if you can't even reach the far corner of the mattress unless you're sitting on it? *is perplexed*<br /><br /><span style="color:#000099;"><strong>Heather:</strong> Particularly when you're on the top bunk. We, of course, did not put Raquelle on the top bunk. She is a violent sleeper and would have wound up on the floor at 2 am. The main drawback to this situation is that it would wake the rest of us. </span><br /><br /><span style="color:#000099;">I was very pleased with myself concerning my bed-making. I brought along some pieces of foam and plopped them on the hard plastic mattress before putting the sheets on. I, uh, had to have help putting the sheets on. Picture me on the back side of a mattress that's wildly flopping around, hollering things to Raquelle on the front side. It was very exciting and I got my exercise for the day.</span><br /><br />Yeah, well, just so nobody messes with anybody else's bunk.<br /><br /><a href="http://images.icanhascheezburger.com/completestore/2008/10/25/128694269497245182.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 500px; HEIGHT: 375px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://images.icanhascheezburger.com/completestore/2008/10/25/128694269497245182.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Setting up the easel and announcements poster, which sported a picture of my pwecious pussy cat, Spike. *smirk*<br /><br /><p><a href="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/IMG_2114.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 478px; HEIGHT: 578px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/IMG_2114.jpg" /></a><br /><strong><em>My Spike picture</em></strong></p><p><span style="color:#000099;"><strong>Heather:</strong> We found ourselves in the illustrious position of being Office Supply Dispensers. I believe in the first evening alone we dispensed paper, markers, tape, as well as the bulletin board and easel to hold it. We are SO prepared. :preens:</span></p><p><strong>Harassment Moment:</strong> Stacy hollering at me in front of everyone about how I ought to find a husband at this event. Pill.</p><p><a href="http://images.icanhascheezburger.com/completestore/2009/5/5/128860264392289176.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 500px; HEIGHT: 376px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://images.icanhascheezburger.com/completestore/2009/5/5/128860264392289176.jpg" /></a><br /><strong><em>How I feel about Stacy</em></strong><br /><br /><span style="color:#000099;"><strong>Heather:</strong> As I stood in the dinner line, Stacy came charging in the door. On a recent chat with him, I had foolishly divulged the information that Mom's nickname for us is often Fatty-Toes. Therefore, with the mistaken idea that I would be insulted, as he passed by he airily greeted me with, "Hi, Fatty-Toes."<br /><br />I, of course, played it cool and merely gave him a frosty, "Good evening, sir." This apparently miffed him and he later explained that when he takes the time to insult me, I should at least have the good grace to ACT insulted. Right. I'll try to remember that for next time.</span><br /><br /><a href="http://images.icanhascheezburger.com/completestore/2009/3/9/128810932331014798.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 497px; HEIGHT: 591px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://images.icanhascheezburger.com/completestore/2009/3/9/128810932331014798.jpg" /></a><br /><strong><em>How Heather feels about Stacy</em></strong><br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Hanging around chatting before dinner:<br /><br /><a href="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/IMG_4755-1.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 638px; HEIGHT: 424px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/IMG_4755-1.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Eating dinner with the gang.<br /><br /><a href="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/IMG_4763-1.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 639px; HEIGHT: 426px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/IMG_4763-1.jpg" /></a><br /><strong><em>Thanks to the cooks!</em></strong><br /><br /><a href="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/IMG_4759-1.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 638px; HEIGHT: 424px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/IMG_4759-1.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/IMG_4760-1.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 479px; HEIGHT: 356px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/IMG_4760-1.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Heather had KP duty, but I didn't. Neener, neener. :D<br /><br /><a href="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/IMG_4771-1-1.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 469px; HEIGHT: 413px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/IMG_4771-1-1.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Heading out to the evening bonfire and yakking with everyone and joining the sing-along.<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Dustin showing me how to play spoons one-handed. Cool! I need to hone my technique--he was much better at it than I was.<br /><br /><strong>Instructive Moment:</strong> Referring to "choruses" and being roundly rebuked (by Josh, I think) and informed that they are "praise songs." Yeah, yeah, I'm just dating myself amongst all these whippersnappers. When I was a kid, they were CHORUSES. LOL! :D :D :D<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Singing some old PRAISE SONGS that brought back a lot of fun memories.<br /><br /><a href="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/IMG_4780-1.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 558px; HEIGHT: 369px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/IMG_4780-1.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><span style="color:#000099;"><strong>Heather:</strong> I dug out my little harp and sat on the picnic table amongst the other jammers. Kamon had a mandolin and some other folks had assorted guitars. We sang Praise Songs for a while, but this Old Fogey didn't know any of them. So then we sang old hymns and campfire songs, which this Old Fogey did know. I also gave a performance of The Bear Song (special thanks to Julz, Lilybeth and Raquelle for their help) which went over big. :D</span><br /><br />We thought she was singing the bear song....<br /><br /><a href="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/IMG_4779-1.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 638px; HEIGHT: 424px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/IMG_4779-1.jpg" /></a> </p><p><br /><a href="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/IMG_4777-1-1.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 638px; HEIGHT: 424px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/IMG_4777-1-1.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><strong>Lowlight:</strong> Bedtime.<br /><br /><strong>Highlight:</strong> Snickering with Priscilla as I got ready for bed and solving the world's problems.<br /><br /><strong>Giggle moment:</strong> Getting out my Bible to read a few verses before bed.<br /><br />"Do you have a verse for me?" Priscilla whispered jokingly.<br /><br />"No!" I hissed back."Go to sleep."<br /><br />But actually, I had landed on a verse that struck me funny. I just knew that if I shared it right then we'd probably giggle too loudly and wake everyone up. So the next morning I informed her somberly that I had a verse for her. It was: "Put away your witchcraft and your spells." Haw haw!<br /><br />Never mind, ya had to be there. :D :D<br /><br /><strong>Lowlight:</strong> I couldn't get to sleep AGAIN. Finally in disgust I got up about 2:00 and fished out an herbal relaxer pill. I crept off to the bathroom to get a drink. Priscilla was awake too and crept in to join me and we solved the world's problems AGAIN in hushed whispers in the bathroom. :D<br /><br /><span style="color:#000099;"><strong>Heather:</strong> I had a little trouble getting to sleep too. That lovely foam I mentioned earlier? Turned out to be harder than the dumb mattress. But picture me trying to pull it out from between the mattress and the sheet... in the dark... while still laying on it... I dare you not to laugh. It was very funny and I almost got the giggles myself. Once I finally got it all pulled out, I fell asleep and life was hunky dory again.</span><br /><br />And, before we close, a few assorted photos.<br /><br />(I say "assorted" because I'm SICK of the word "random." Random, random, randomrandomrandomrandom, can't we have any variety in our vocabulary any more? Here's a few, y'know, "random" pictures....*affected smirk*)<br /><br /><strong>My sister. Sigh.</strong><br /><br /><a href="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/IMG_4769-1-1.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 552px; HEIGHT: 422px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/IMG_4769-1-1.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><strong>CHARACTER PROFILE<br /><em>Hayden, the Official First Aid Dude.</em></strong><br /><br /><a href="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/IMG_4768-1.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 208px; HEIGHT: 251px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll14/opussthedopuss/IMG_4768-1.jpg" /></a><br /><br />Nice to have someone experienced on hand in case of necessity. Because sometimes the quality of amateur medical personnel leaves something to be desired.<br /><br /><a href="http://images.icanhascheezburger.com/completestore/2008/3/20/cprcatisani128505292817187500.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 500px; HEIGHT: 258px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://images.icanhascheezburger.com/completestore/2008/3/20/cprcatisani128505292817187500.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;color:#cc0000;">And, that, my friends concludes Day 1. Stay tuned for Day 2......</span></strong> </p>Heather Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03350882971891496288noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3244533696111728633.post-19595204954774666872007-11-25T18:39:00.000-08:002007-11-25T18:40:59.719-08:00Postscript... Cultural Experiences<em><strong>Just for fun…a few episodes that were forgotten in other entries.</strong></em><br /><br /><br /><strong>Episode 1—Lines and more lines</strong><br />Government bureaucracy is really entertaining, in a stupid way. When we were stuck in the LONG and slow-moving customs line in London (our halfway point from the Munich-Edinburgh flight), we were chatting with several ladies a little ways behind us, who were panicking that they would miss their soon-departing flight. We invited them to go ahead of us in line and they thankfully did so. They inquired of the people up ahead in line if they could go to the front, since the plane was leaving so soon. Everyone was glad to oblige.<br /><br />HOWEVER! When the customs agent found out that the ladies had CUT IN FRONT they were properly shocked at such disorderly conduct and flatly refused to process them until it was THEIR TURN. Tsk tsk! The ladies were sent back to their original place in line, like naughty little 3-year-olds who had tried to cut in line for animal crackers. It didn’t matter that everyone in line was willing to let the ladies go ahead. Da rules are da rules. Bah.<br /><br />Socialism…gotta love it.<br /><br /><strong>Episode 2—How DO you say it?<br /></strong>While in Germany, Gramps began a bit of philosophical musing as to how the Germans would say 888. “Ocht, ocht, und ocht,” he snickered and the rest of us started snickering too. It became a bit of a standing joke when we discovered words later in the trip that we weren’t sure how to pronounce. Oh that word? It probably goes ocht ocht und ocht.<br /><br /><strong>Episode 3—Ain’t like over here</strong><br />We explored the most interesting little pharmacy in Bath. Actually, we visited several pharmacies over the course of the trip, in quest of things like nose drops or antacids. What was surprising was that a “pharmacy” didn’t necessarily carry the typical medications we’re used to finding here—but they did carry a whole line of natural and herbal remedies!<br /><br />Anyway, the pharmacy in Bath was fun because it was retrofitted into one of the old buildings. We were in quest of some batteries and were told they were downstairs. The upstairs of the pharmacy was EXTREMELY small and very crowded—about ¼ the size of a small gas station convenience store. The “downstairs” was really like a basement. A narrow flight of stairs led us down to a small and dusty cave-feeling lower floor, which housed the batteries, some purses, lotions, shampoos, and all that stuff. A small basket of on-sale lotion proved to be tiny little bottles of the stuff in a basket at floor level (a concrete floor) that were COVERED in dust and cobwebs.<br /><br />Altogether, nothing like your typical CVS or Walgreens.<br /><br /><strong>Episode 4—Do you speak English?</strong><br />On one of our first days in London, Grandma and Heather boarded the hotel elevator to go the lobby. A bell-boy joined them on the elevator and inquired if they were headed down. Except his thick Cockney accent made it sound like “Ye-gown-dayown?”<br /><br />“Yes, we’re going down,” Heather replied.<br /><br />Grandma hadn’t processed the Cockney at all. It takes a little getting used to. “Do you speak English?” she asked him politely.<br /><br />Ah well…he should have heeded the advice of the dastardly villain in the Crown Jewels skit at the Tower of London and said it slowly—for the Americans.Heather Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03350882971891496288noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3244533696111728633.post-21433014556400950642007-11-25T18:37:00.000-08:002007-11-25T18:39:03.122-08:00From There to Here: Flying Home<strong>Raquelle:</strong> The next morning we arose bright and early and finished our last minute packing. Dad and Gramps patiently hauled the suitcases down the four flights of stairs. Ugh. What a chore.<br /><br /><strong>Heather:</strong> Keep in mind that a “flight” of stairs often really means two flights of stairs with a landing. So we actually had to climb about six flights of stairs, with lots of little turnings, and landings and doors along the way.<br /><br /><strong>Raquelle:</strong> But hey, we could have had it worse. We actually had some of the “upscale” rooms—we had a private bath. There were other rooms in the Barry House that did NOT.<br /><br />As I recall, we were leaving before the Official Breakfast Hour. (And we knew better than to go looking for coffee!) So we snacked on granola and such things.<br /><br />We had carefully arranged ahead of time for a van to come and drive us to Gatwick airport. The hotel proprietor (the nice gentleman with the turban) had arranged it for us and Dad had even called the van company night before to confirm it.<br /><br />Smug in the knowledge that we were packed and ready on time and that we were headed for home and our own beds, we went out on the sidewalk to wait. Well, a few of us did. It was too nippy to stay out there for too long.<br /><br /><strong>Heather:</strong> Perhaps it was just Dad’s sixth traveling sense, but he had been suspicious about that van all along. As soon as we were up, he was calling the van company to make sure the van was coming. “Oh yes, it’s on the way,” they said. In fact, they said that every time Dad called after that… which was about six more times.<br /><br />As we all got more and more tense, realizing that we would miss our plane if the van didn’t show up soon, Dad became more and more irate with the van company. At last the very polite, very unhelpful people on the other end decided to call ANOTHER van to come pick us up since they SAID they had no idea what happened to the first driver.<br /><br />By this point, we had all discussed Plan B and Plan C and every other plan we could think of to get to the airport on time. The only thing that might have worked was calling three cabs to take all of us – but the cost would have been astronomical. We could have attempted to take a train but that also meant getting cabs and then buying tickets and hoping we catch the train in time. We were praying hard. At the last possible minute, the van FINALLY showed up.<br /><br />The driver (the new one, not the original one) was a very affable black man, understood our problem and proceeded to drive like a maniac to the airport (which was about an hour’s drive away). He was kind of a goofy guy and apparently talked a mile a minute to Dad and Gramps, maybe trying to calm them down. I didn’t hear the conversation but they said it was entertaining.<br /><br /><strong>Raquelle:</strong> I heard some of it. He had traveled not too long ago to…oh, I forget exactly where, but someplace like Taiwan or something. He was very enthusiastic and was telling Dad all about it and about a lot of the neat things he bought there because the prices were so much better.<br /><br />“Do you like to shop?” he asked Dad eagerly.<br /><br />“Some,” said Dad. I could tell that Dad’s mind was really at the airport, not on shopping. J<br /><br />“I never used to be a shopping guy,” the driver explained and I got the feeling he’d been drug along on a lot of those wife-inspired shopping trips. J “But then I found out that I could buy things for myself!” he enthused, and waxed eloquent over various neat things he’d found and bargains he got. Some of his bargains were of a, er, dubious nature.<br /><br />“You see,” he told us gleefully, “I would buy my wife a diamond ring and say it was a gift so we could get it through customs. And then I’d sell it over here and make a lot of money.”<br /><br />Um, right.<br /><br />Anyhow, I at least was entertained. J And I frankly felt sort of sorry for the guy—he was trying so hard to get Dad to relax and poor Dad would not be able to relax until we had braved the stupidity of the Gatwick airport and were safely on the plane. We had absolutely no wiggle room—everything would have to go EXACTLY like clockwork for us to make the plane.<br /><br /><strong>Heather:</strong> When we reached the airport, we all hurtled out of the van, threw the suitcases out and ran for the elevator to take us to the terminal. Mom had dug out some cash to tip the driver, knowing Dad wouldn’t have time while wrestling suitcases. The driver was very appreciative and wished us well.<br /><br />Of course, if you think that because we were at the airport, our troubles were over, then you are thinking of the calm, sane, sensible airports we have in the US. No, in Gatwick we had to brave an enormous security line, at the same time breasting outgoing traffic. Then you have to race to your gate, which gets changed so you can race to another gate. Then, if you’re me, you flop down on the floor and try to sleep while waiting to board.<br /><br /><strong>Raquelle:</strong> The people-traffic was RIDICULOUS. There were HUGE, solid crowds of people cramming the area. The line for security wound around and around and around and around. It was so long that occasionally an airport personnel person would come by and inquire if anyone’s flight was leaving in the next 20 minutes or so. In which case, the lucky dogs would get to go to the front of the line.<br /><br />Lest you think it was a technological issue, it wasn’t. Gatwick had about a number of X-ray machines. But they were, y’know….yawn….only working three of them or so.<br /><br />There was also an ENORMOUS line at the ticket counter. However, Dad had an ace card…he is Chairman’s Preferred with USAir, remember? So we were all able to skip the line entirely and deal with an agent who only handled Preferred Members. That probably saved us a good half hour at the least.<br /><br />At last we were through all the stupid processing and could scramble our way to the gate. I had hoped to find a ladies’ room, but a quick inspection revealed that the nearest ladies’ room was down the hall, down an elevator, and three miles east. J You know, in a US airport there are facilities every couple of gates, ready, accessible and handy. But not here, nope. Sheesh.<br /><br />However, I wasn’t complaining. We were at the gate! We could make the flight! YAY! YIPPEE!!!! Praise God!!! We were very, very thankful. We only had about ten minutes before they started boarding. Whew!<br /><br /><strong>Heather:</strong> So at last, we made it onto the flight itself. And then we all took a deep breath – well, as deep a breath as you can take in those little vacuum-packed sardine tins they call planes – and relaxed.<br /><br />I think we all slept some, and read some. I got entertained by a baby a few seats further up. It was a British family “on holiday” and the baby was probably 18 months and walking everywhere. She wasn’t crabby, but she had a stuffy nose and was also rather noisy. And she kept trying to greet everyone as she went by. American babies say “hi” but she kept trying to say “hello” with the cutest British accent. It was funny.<br /><br />At last we landed, and let me tell you, the Charlotte airport is peaceful, calm, quiet, serene, carpeted, and CLEAN. (Did I mention the lack of carpeting in the main check-in areas at the European airports?) It was WONDERFUL!!!<br /><br />After going through, security we ambled to the door and Dad went off to get the van out of parking. We all felt gay and happy and as happy to be home as we were to leave home at the beginning. Gramps gave Grandma a high-five. “We did it, gal!” he crowed.<br /><br />Then we hoisted the suitcases into the van, took a deep breath of clean Carolina air, and headed home!<br /><br />The afternoon was relaxed as we unpacked a bit, took a nap or two and then got cleaned up to go to the Golden Corral for supper.<br /><br />And that, my friends, is the final account of the final day of our trip to Europe!!!Heather Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03350882971891496288noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3244533696111728633.post-64639478555883376272007-11-25T18:33:00.000-08:002007-11-25T18:36:28.531-08:00British Library, Westminster Abbey and book shopping<strong>Raquelle:</strong> We woke up to the knowledge that this was our last full day in London. Were we glad or sorry? Well, I think most of us leaned more towards glad. We were all getting travel-weary and, after the miniscule wittsy-weensy rooms at the Barry House, we were longing for our own spacious rooms at home. (Definition of spacious: You can sit on your bed and stretch your arms out sideways withOUT hitting the window on one side and the bathroom sink on the other. J Did I mention the rooms had no air-conditioning?)<br /><br />Our stops for today: The British Library, Westminster Abbey, and book shopping.<br /><br />The British Library, for those who don’t know, is more than just a library. It has a very large room with all kinds of rare manuscripts, including the Magna Carta.<br /><br />But first we had to eat breakfast in the little downstairs breakfast room….scrambled eggs, salty ham, dead toast and hot tea. They had a tiny television in one corner, running the news. The talking heads on the news were on the dorkiest, clunkiest, cheesiest, cheapest looking set. Puh-lease. Musta been a local station. Quite entertaining.<br /><br />It was about a half-hour tube ride to the library. Again I was struck by the outlandish things that people wear in London. They wear the strangest, most startling combinations of things. I was particularly fascinated by a lady across from me. She wore a black sleeveless cotton shirt, a dark greenish-black brocade-looking skirt, a necklace with enormous (1+ inch) ugly glass beads, a band of leopard skin wrapped around her wrist and--the clincher--canvas boots with hideous green, yellow and pink flowers painted on them. Man, it was all I could do to drag my eyes away from her boots. I didn’t want to stare and be rude but my goodness—I’ve never seen boots like that in my life and I hope I never do again. Shudder!<br /><br />Once off the tube we headed down the sidewalk, avoiding the mess created by a walled-off construction area. There was a line into the library. That’s because they have security there—just a quick peek into your bags.<br /><br /><strong>Heather:</strong> As we waited in line, I noticed one of the “benefits” of a socialistic society – everything gets cleaned a lot. A man was mopping (I kid you not) the outside sidewalk area in front of the British Museum. Your tax dollars at work. (If you’re British, that is. J)<br /><br /><strong>Raquelle:</strong> When I got to the security table, a jolly older gentleman checked my camera bag.<br /><br />“Do ye hayve an obbledeeguck?” he asked. (I don’t know WHAT under the canopy the word was.)<br /><br />“I’m sorry?” I asked politely.<br /><br />“An obbledeeguck?” he repeated.<br /><br />I leaned forward apologetically. “I’m sorry?” I asked again, feeling like a dumb tourist.<br /><br />“Ah well, obviously not,” he concluded and handed me back the bag.<br /><br />The suspense is eating at me. Maybe I DID have an obbledeeguck, but I’ll never know!!!<br /><br />We headed for the rare documents room. They had a large collection of fascinating items. There were several copies of the Magna Carta—I believe there are only 4 copies known to still exist and they had two of them. One of them had been badly damaged in a fire, unfortunately, but the other was in reasonably good shape for such an old document. There was also the Papal Bull that was issued condemning the Magna Carta. Cool.<br /><br /><strong>Heather:</strong> Something that Gramps and I were talking about that surprised us was that we had pictured “the Magna Charta” as one document that King John sat down and signed. But there were actually lots of copies made and they had the royal seal fixed to them to make them legal. Apparently there was no formal signing service with a big, bee-ootiful ballpoint pen as dignitaries looked on – oh wait, that’s when the President signs a bill. Nevermind.<br /><br /><strong>Raquelle:</strong> Other documents of interest included Lady Jane Grey’s illuminated (that is, ornately hand-illustrated) prayer book, a letter from Sir Thomas More to King Henry, proclaiming that he was in fact a loyal servant to the crown (Henry didn’t believe him and whopped off his head….nice fellow), some handwritten material by Jane Austen, some original scores by Handel and Mozart, a story by whoever the guy was who wrote “Alice In Wonderland” (I can NOT remember his name, I ought to know it—Lewis Carroll, that’s it!!!), and other stuff.<br /><br />There was even, ladies and gentlemen, a CONFEDERATE item of interest. It was a metal stamp used for making Confederate postage stamps. Cool.<br /><br /><strong>Heather:</strong> There was also a letter from George Washington there. They had a whole American exhibit with some neat things.<br /><br />Once we finished the documents room, we took a quick 15 minutes in the current Special Exhibit display. It was of the sacred documents from the Muslim, Jewish and Christian faiths. Ancient Scripture texts, translations, and commentaries. It was really, really neat and I wished we could have stayed longer. But we had to leave and get to our next destination – Westminster Abbey.<br /><br />My only vague memory of Westminster Abbey from our last Europe trip (in 1999) was of a long hall and a big organ. I remembered the organ because (duh) we were there for an organ recital. However, there is a LOT more to the abbey than that.<br /><br />King Edward the Confessor (who predates the Norman invasion of 1066, in case you’re interested) built the first Westminster Abbey on that site. And it has been a royal abbey ever since. Do you, ladies and gentlemen, realize the significance of this?<br /><br />It means that all the Big Mucky Mucks get buried there. The list includes, but is most certainly not limited to: David Livingston, Sir Isaac Newton, Robert Browning, Charles Dickens, George Frederick Handel, Rudyard Kipling and forty-leven kings and queens (Edwards, Henrys, Elizabeth, Charles, Anne, Mary and George and suchlike). We also noted Charles Darwin’s slab, which was fortunately on the floor since Dad decided to stomp on it.<br /><br /><strong>Raquelle:</strong> Well…actually…tee hee…Mom and I had fun with Darwin’s grave too and stood over it and sneered, “P-tooh!” (That’s the polite feminine version of spitting. J)<br /><br /><strong>Heather:</strong> It took us a long time to go all the way around and look at all the inscriptions, plaques, monuments, tombs, slabs, and statues. We were decidedly footsore at the end.<br /><br />Westminster Abbey has also been a royal coronation site for umpteen-leven years. So the coronation throne is there – it’s rather boring looking, but exceedingly ancient. It’s built so that it will hold the Stone of Scone that we had seen in Scotland – the stone that all Scottish monarchs are crowned on. Of course, the Stone in is still in Scotland but whenever there is a coronation, they will bring it back to Westminster so the new king or queen can sit on it and thus be a legal monarch of Scotland. (Tradition is a wonderful thing. Can you imagine in America saying the President isn’t legal till he sits on a rock?)<br /><br /><strong>Raquelle:</strong> It’s actually kind of entertaining, because the reason the chair was built to accommodate the Stone of Scone was basically so that the monarch of England could say, “Nyah-nyah, we conquered you Scots! Ha ha, we have your rock! And we’re coming after your peanut-butter-and-jelly samwich next!!” This is how bagpipes came into being, because the Scots were so furious they decided to get even with the English and create an instrument that would make such a deafening noise that the English would forever stop trying to take their sandwiches! Well, okay, maybe I just made that part about the bagpipes up…<br /><br />Westminster Abbey is VERY crowded. Not with people—with markers and monuments and memorials. Which is not surprising, as it’s had hundreds of years to accumulate them. You could spend days there and not read every marker.<br /><br />It was especially cool to stand at the elaborate tombs of the famous kings and queens of England that you read about in history books. Suddenly history is no longer a page on a book—it’s real! You can touch it. And you feel like if you could just sweep away the annoying cobweb of time, you could actually be talking to those kings and queens in person!<br /><br /><strong>Heather:</strong> Finally, we left the abbey and started wandering around, looking for lunch. There were lots of small shops that sold food, but none of them had chairs to sit in. Or else the chairs were full. Customer service, especially concerning food, is very different in the UK. Chairs are scarce, trashcans are nonexistent, and people act affronted if you want anything unusual done to your food. I couldn’t find a place that sold pasties, so I had a couple samovars instead, which are a lot like pasties. Mom and Raquelle had sandwiches (how boring) and I don’t remember what Dad and Gramps had.<br /><br /><strong>Raquelle:</strong> It’s not my fault that I ended up with a boring sandwich. I tried to order something else…I’ve forgotten what…and received a blank, peeved stare from the bored clerk. “We don’t have those,” she said, annoyed.<br /><br />“But your sign says you do,” I pressed, arguing the point closely and gesturing at the chalkboard.<br /><br />“Yeah, well, we don’t. We’re out,” she said, impatiently.<br /><br />Actually, they were out of just about everything. The attractive display of items on the chalkboard had absolutely no grounding in reality. Why they didn’t have EXTRA when they KNOW there will be a lunch crowd is more than I can fathom. But that’s very typical over there. Yawn. I mean, look, customers can always go somewhere else, right? Why bother?<br /><br /><strong>Heather:</strong> Grandma pondered about her choice for a while and finally chose hot soup. Then she said there was no way she could stand in the street and eat soup. Our sympathy changed to skepticism when our Highly Dexterous Grandma spotted a bunch of cheap street vendors and proceed to not only eat soup in the street, but shop at the same time. Picture her with a precarious cup of soup in one hand and industriously rooting through piles of merchandise with the other. She ended up buying a snazzy little purse and we all applauded her ambidexterity.<br /><br /><strong>Raquelle:</strong> Wait, wait, wait. Heather isn’t describing this in near enough detail. “Cheap street vendor” doesn’t give you the picture at all. Picture this: First, it’s crowded. Clothes racks and tables of junk are everywhere. We end up next to several LARGE tables pushed together. There are HEAPS of purses piled in clumps. Two Very Big And Gregarious black guys (what do you suppose they call them over there…African-Englishmen?) are rapidly seizing armfuls of the purses and shoving them into black plastic garbage bags as they begin to pack up for the day. They are trying to sell Grandma on a purse. You shoulda heard the sales job. Since the purses only cost one pound apiece (about $2) we had our suspicions about them. Like maybe they were, uh, hot goods? But who knows? J<br /><br /><strong>Heather:</strong> By this time, we all decidedly needed to sit down. Shopping (or watching people shop!) can be exhausting, you know. So we found a little shop that was empty and walked in. They sold smoothies and other fruit drinks so we all ordered some. It took a few minutes to prepare them but the proprietors assured us they would be very, very tasty. And they were! And the seats felt wonderful!<br /><br />We got into a conversation with the proprietors. Grandma was curious about their nationality and the lady told her they were Persian. That’s what Iranians call themselves when they don’t want to say they’re from Iran. J Turns out they love America, have family there and would like to go there themselves someday. They were nice folks.<br /><br />The lady was laughing about the climate difference between Iran and England. She said that the first several months she spent in England (in the summer) she stayed huddled up in her scarves and coats. “But now I do not mind it,” she smiled and she and her husband (who were wearing short sleeves) chuckled at us in our long sleeves and jackets. We finally finished, wished them well and gave them a tract before leaving.<br /><br />The last stop of the day was going to be book shopping. But for some reason, we never did end up in any really good book shops. So everyone’s purchases were minimal.<br /><br /><strong>Raquelle:</strong> The bookstores were a combination of antique books and 20-year-old paperbacks. We kept thinking there were going to be actual “antique book” stores, so we were somewhat disappointed. But it was fun to poke around…some of the shops were very tiny but were CRAMMED with books. And you should have seen the cash register area at one of them. It was this tiny nook made of plywood, squished in a corner. You want to sign a credit card slip? No problem! Just, y’know, try to prop it on the ½ inch width of plywood there…<br /><br />Grandma drew my attention to a quote someone had tacked on the wall. “You’ll like this, Raquelle,” she said. And I did like it. I forget the exact wording but it was something like, “It’s all very well and good to read the classics, but can you waggle your ears?” J<br /><br /><strong>Heather:</strong> At last, footsore and weary, we headed back to our rooms to lay down for a brief nap before dinner. And dinner, we decided, would be at Garfunkle’s again, since we all felt the need of a “known quantity.” I think I ordered a hamburger, if I remember right. We all had a good time reviewing the details of our trip and chatting at dinner.<br /><br /><strong>Raquelle:</strong> As our last fling, we all ordered scandalous desserts…ice cream on pancakes with butterscotch, and cheesecake and such things.<br /><br /><strong>Heather:</strong> Then it was off to pack before bedtime. Morning was going to be dreadfully early so we wanted to get as much done the night before as possible. And so ended our last full day in Europe.Heather Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03350882971891496288noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3244533696111728633.post-86557014730292365702007-09-26T19:40:00.000-07:002007-09-26T08:49:21.132-07:00Stealing the Crown Jewels from the Tower of LondonAll right, friends and fellow citizens....forthwith is the true and faithful account of the Vastly Entertaining living history presentation we saw at the Tower of London. Using a great deal of humor and audience participation, they told us a true story of an attempt to steal the crown jewels back in the um......uh.........1500s? That is, the gist of the story was true. The hilarious embellishments along the way were, y'know, embellishments. :D<br /><br />Further, you simply MUST imagine this with jolly British accents. I can't exactly replicate them here, so you have to imagine it.<br /><br />Sit back and have fun................<br /><br />* * * * * * * * * * * *<br />The scenario began with a young woman, Elizabeth Edwards, telling us about her family. Her father, you see, was custodian of the crown jewels. In fact (for a small fee), she would even be willing to take us on a short tour and show us the jewels if we wanted to see them. She knew we would want to see them…she could even now see the glints in the ladies’ eyes at the thought of jewels.<br /><br />“But,” she sighed, “there are other, even more important things on my mind than jewels. I’m in LOVE!”<br /><br />We all sighed dreamily—at least, most of the ladies did.<br /><br />However, poor Elizabeth went on to inform us that she could not marry her true love, for he was a soldier and made no money. “You, sir, you’re a soldier—you know that soldiers make no money!” she said, looking at Dad.<br /><br />“None,” Dad agreed, rising to the occasion.<br /><br />Elizabeth’s father, it seems, wanted her to marry the wealthy nephew of a certain Reverend Doctor Alyfe (sp?), whom she had never met. And as she told us this, a man descended the nearby steps. He was wearing black, with a churchman’s collar, a black robe, a black hat, and had oodles of curly grey hair down to his shoulders.<br /><br />“Oh, beg pardon, Miss,” he said. “I’m just on my way to visit Master Edwards.”<br /><br />“My father!” Elizabeth said.<br /><br />“He is YOUR father? Why you must be Elizabeth!" he gurgled (if that's an appropriate adverb for a guy). "I am the Reverend Doctor Alyfe.”<br /><br />Elizabeth winced perceptibly.<br /><br />“And I was just on my way to talk to him about the marriage between you and my nephew!” he exclaimed.<br /><br />“Oh, do tell, sir—your nephew….is he…..handsome?” she asked anxiously.<br /><br />“Is he handsome?” asked the Rev. Dr. incredulously. “Is he HANDSOME??? Well……no. But what does that matter? The inside is more important than the outside! Ah look, see how she weeps for joy at knowing her husband is a good man at heart.” He gestured benevolently at Elizabeth, who was now sobbing despairingly into her arm.<br /><br />He finally took his leave and Elizabeth recollected that she was going to show us the jewels. “I’ll try not to blub too much,” she sniffed. “Just follow me now.”<br /><br />We all followed obediently. Elizabeth crossed a small crossroads and just as the rest of us approached it, a man jumped out in front of us. “STOP RIGHT THERE!” he bellowed. “DON’T COME ANY CLOSER!!!! (AND ESPECIALLY NOT YOU!!!)” he added as an aside to someone near the front.<br /><br />The gentleman was dressed most astonishingly. He wore a magnificent red and gold outfit and his hair was brown and curly and draped spectacularly past his shoulders and down his back. A felt hat with several pretentious feathers graced this most amazing hair.<br /><br />“Now then,” he said. “My name is Tom Hunt. Maybe you’ve heard of me? Anyone?” He looked around hopefully. “Well anyway,” he continued, crestfallen, “My name is Tom.” He elaborated at length about what a dashing fellow he was, and how all the ladies in town were vastly impressed with him, although he made a passing reference that he was, alas, the reason his mum and dad hadn’t stayed togeth---well, we didn’t need to bother about his problems. Then he went on, “I am in need of helpers. You don’t know what I’m about to do, do you? Well, we’re going to steal the crown jewels!!! How many of you are willing to help me?”<br /><br />A few people cheered. Most of us did not deign to be mixed up in something so dastardly scandalous and remained silent.<br /><br />“Well, I didn’t want to have to do this….” he sighed. He pulled out a very small pocket pistol and pointed it at us. “This is Little Tom.” (He pronounced it<em> Li-il Tom--</em>remember his British accent!)“Now, HOW MANY OF YOU ARE WILLING TO HELP ME?”<br /><br />Under such dire threatening, we became cowards and basely abandoned our moral scruples, immediately agreeing to help him in his loathsome quest.<br /><br />“Good, good! Come right this way and I’ll tell you all the details.” He led us to another section of the stone wall, near a doorway with some stairs that led up to the jewels tower. There he excitedly began telling us the plan, and how we would steal the jewels and would all escape on the horses outside the gate and rendezvous later at a tavern.<br /><br /><br />“Now, I’ll be sitting there in the tavern and you’ll come up and say, ‘Tom, I’m one of the people who helped you steal the jewels’ and I’LL say.........‘I never saw you before in my life,’” he informed us. “You see, there’s so many of you…I can’t remember all the faces. So you see, we need a code sign. Some people use the sign of the nose.” He touched his nose. “Others use the eye.” He began winking with ridiculous exaggeration. “But those don’t do so well, so we’re going to use the devil’s horns!!!” He formed his hand into a devil’s horn gesture and made us all practice it.<br /><br />“Now, my father, Colonel Blood, is the man who will lead us. He should be here soon.”<br /><br />Just at this juncture a man came sweeping through the doorway, nearly knocking noble Tom off his feet. “I say, sir, just hold up a minute!” Tom said angrily. The man turned, with a huge smile, making a devil’s horn sign.<br /><br />“Ah! Colonel Blood! Father! I didn’t even recognize you!!” cried Tom. Oh sinister…his father was, in fact, the man pretending to be the Reverend Doctor Alyfe.<br /><br />The supposed "Revered Doctor" began to fill us in on the background of the scheme—how he had ingratiated himself into the Edwards family, pretending to be a clergyman, so that he could have better access to the jewels. “Oh those Edwardses,” he said, with disgust. “Master Edwards…….and his BOVINE wife and his daughter….what’s her name?....oh yes, E-liz-a-beth.” He made a face. “She’s supposed to marry my nephew. Ha! I have no nephew!!” He laughed uproariously. “There’s a son too, but he’s in the army. He’s in Flanders and won’t bother us. I’ve been masquerading as a good churchman and they all trust me. Now then, Tom, have you informed all these people what we are to do and why?”<br /><br />“Ah yes, father! They all know!” Tom said eagerly. “We’re going to get rich and famous!” He pranced about.<br /><br />“No, that’s not why we’re here!” grumbled the Rev. Dr.<br /><br />“It’s not?” asked Tom forlornly.<br /><br />“No, no, no. The king is a Protestant! Those of us who are Catholics don’t like the way things are going! We don’t like the restrictions being talked about! So we are going to rattle the king’s cage a bit!”<br /><br />“And get rich and famous!” Tom said joyously.<br /><br />“Well, maybe, but that’s not the point.”<br /><br />“Now father,” Tom said, changing the subject slightly, “I think there’s just a little bit of a problem here. I have my suspicions…I’ve been looking closely at some of these people….and I think some of them are women.”<br /><br />The Rev. Dr. looked surprised. “But they’re all wearing britches!” he argued.<br /><br />“Yes, but I think some of them are anyway,” Tom insisted. “And you know how women are…they can be a little bit loose with their tongues—especially when they’ve had a bit of gin.”<br /><br />“Well, why don’t you buy their silence by telling them how much money the jewels are worth?” suggested the Rev. Dr.<br /><br />“Ah, very good idea! The jewels,” Tom said impressively, “are worth TEN THOUSAND pounds.”<br /><br />We nodded sagely at this piece of information. Tom was disgusted that we weren’t more awestruck.<br /><br />“Maybe you should say it again,” the Rev. Dr. coached. “Say it SLOWLY---for the Americans.”<br /><br />(I cracked up at that line.)<br /><br />Tom repeated the sum and we all oohed and aahed with great gusto.<br /><br />“Good. Now, I’m just going to sneak up there and get the jewels. You all wait here for me and stop anyone who tries to follow,” ordered the Rev. Dr. “You have your pistol, Tom?<br /><br />“Aye, right here, I’ve got Li'l Tom here,” Tom said, waving his tiny pocket pistol.<br /><br />“Pshaw! That’s no pistol!” scoffed the Rev. Dr. He pulled back his black churchman’s robe and pulled out an enormous handgun. “THIS is a pistol! Now stay here and guard the gate. That’s your job!”<br /><br />He strode off.<br /><br />“A job to do!” Tom said ecstatically. “He’s never given me a job to do before! I’m going to do great! A job! Why---”<br /><br />He was interrupted by someone singing and striding through the crowd. It was a soldier. He made for the gate.<br /><br />“I say! Wait! Stop! You can’t go in here,” Tom said, barring the way.<br /><br />“And why not, man?” the soldier demanded. “’Tis my home! My family lives there!”<br /><br />“This—your—that is, your family lives there?” spluttered Tom. “Then you’re Will Edwards! But—but…you’re in Flanders!”<br /><br />The soldier gave us a long-suffering look as if to say, <em>Isn’t he daft?</em> and said, no, he wasn’t in Flanders. He was <em>here.</em> And he wanted past the gate.<br /><br />“But—but—there’s a very good reason why you can’t get past!” Tom insisted, still spluttering. “It’s…ah…um....it's....HELP!” he said in an desperate aside to us. “You see, sir….you can't because....HELP!...”<br /><br />“The family is away!” suggested a woman in the crowd.<br /><br />“Excellent!” Tom enthused. He bounced over to her, excitedly wringing his hands. “Why, that’s a great idea! That’s what I’ll tell him! I’ll say---”<br /><br />And, of course, during this tiny distraction, Will had slipped past him!<br /><br />Poor Tom was beside himself. Alas! He had failed in his job! What should we do next!<br /><br />Suddenly from the jewel tower we heard shrieks and cries from Elizabeth! “Help! Help! Murder!” she shrieked. Will went bounding up to her aid. For a moment all was confusion—then the Rev. Dr. came rushing down the stairs towards us, triumphantly bearing the crown and the orb (fakes, of course).<br /><br />“All right now—all of you!” he gestured at us. “You thought you were going to share these jewels, didn’t you?"<br /><br />Of course we did. Wasn't that what he'd promised us?<br /><br />"Well you're wrong! We've got them now! Ha ha!!! You stay right there and don’t try to follow!” He and Tom pulled their pistols—the big one and the little one—and held them on us as they backed away and then fled with the jewels.<br /><br />Well! How do you like that! Dirty double-crossers! Rat finks! Wretched traitors! Nasty little ticks!<br /><br />It was up to Will to rescue the situation. “If only someone could help me chase the man! If only I could find a large crowd of people standing nearby with nothing to do, who could help me!” he cried, looking at us helplessly.<br /><br />“Will, see these people?” suggested Elizabeth, gesturing at us. "Maybe they would help you!"<br /><br />“Oh! Quite! Yes, of course! Will you all help me? Good! Well then, we must chase them. Now, it appears I’m the only one who has had any military training, so I'll lead. The first thing they teach you in the military is—don’t run on the cobblestones, you might trip. Now come with me!”<br />He rapidly led the way and began accosting passerby, wanting to know if they had seen anyone with the jewels.<br /><br />“Now, I know he must be here somewhere,” Will said, after we had reached another section of the wall. “You all stay here while I flush him out. And when he comes, you must say in ONE voice, ‘STOP IN THE NAME OF THE KING!’ And by that I mean ONE voice, not this mishy-mash of various voices. Try it with me now….yes, that’s right…good.”<br /><br />He disappeared and shortly thereafter came running back, chasing the Rev. Dr, who was carrying the jewels.<br /><br />“STOP IN THE NAME OF THE KING!” we thundered.<br /><br />The Rev. Dr. stopped. “Oh ZOUNDS!” he grimaced, thoroughly disgusted. (He pronounced it “zoonz”.) Will pulled his sword and demanded the jewels. Just then Tom appeared, minus the wig, clutching his head.<br /><br />“I’m sorry, father,” he groaned. “I went to get the horses, just like we’d planned. But I fell down and I hit my head…and all the horses ran away.”<br /><br />The Rev. Dr. snorted in annoyance.<br /><br />Then Tom suddenly realized that Will was waving his sword and demanding the jewels. “Oh no you don’t!” Tom said viciously. He pulled out Li-il Tom and covered Will. “I’m going to shoot you right now!”<br /><br />Gasp!<br /><br />Horror!<br /><br />He pulled the trigger!!<br /><br />Nothing happened except a hollow little “clink” sound.<br /><br />“Oh BUGGER!” Tom huffed, and stomped off.<br /><br />The jewels safely restored to a lawful citizen, Will began to tell us the conclusion of the story. “Do you want to hear what happened to the heroes of this story?” he asked.<br /><br />The Rev. Dr. strode forward to the limelight, pleased with himself.<br /><br />“Not YOU,” Will said disgustedly, shooing him back.<br /><br />For Will’s noble service and his father’s heroic defense (he wasn’t murdered, just wounded) they both received government promissory notes, which were unfortunately never delivered on.<br /><br />“And I,” said Elizabeth, who was now on the scene, “got to marry my true love!”<br /><br />The Rev. Dr. strode forward once again. “PISH, TUSH and FIE!” he thundered slowly and deliberately. “You all don’t want to hear about these goody-two-shoes! You want to hear what happened to the VILLAINS, don’t you?”<br /><br />We assented loudly.<br /><br />“Good, because you’re going to hear it anyway,” he smirked. The charges against the perpetrators were all dropped and they were actually looked upon rather kindly…for reasons still unknown. Perhaps the king thought better than to alienate some of his people during a time of impending war. Perhaps they did get the king’s attention about the Catholic/Protestant issue. No one knows for sure. But that was the story, and we ended up with a rousing three cheers for the king.<br /><br />All in all, it was a most hilarious show.<br /><br />Afterwards Mom teasingly asked Tom who his hairdresser was. Tom explained that the wig was very valuable and cost a lot of money--and he'd stolen from someone just last week! :D<br /><br />The End.Heather Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03350882971891496288noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3244533696111728633.post-4120133090938163022007-09-25T08:13:00.000-07:002007-09-25T10:28:40.996-07:00Tower of LondonRaquelle: This was our first morning in the Barry House. After rather arduously getting ready for the day in our eensy-weensy-trip-over-your-suitcase-and-land-in-the-shower-with-your-feet-sticking-out-the-window-0n-the-opposite-side infinitesimal room, we began the tortuous journey downstairs for breakfast. We followed our noses down to the lower level, where there was a small breakfast room. Dad and Grandma and Gramps had already gone down. Heather and I joined them.<br /><br /><br />Shortly thereafter the turbaned proprietor approached us, a pitcher of orange juice in his hand. He had a nice, friendly smile. "You like some breakfast? Bacon? Eggs? Tea or coffee?" We ordered bacon, eggs and tea, which were delivered soon thereafter. The eggs weren't half bad but the thick slice of bacon-ham was a trifle salty and chewy. Ah well. I made up for it by eating a slice of toast with blackcurrant jam.<br /><br />On our way back upstairs I passed the itty-bitty kitchen. It was no bigger than a very (VERY) small pantry. There was basically room for the stove, on which reposed a sturdy skillet with the remains of some scrambled eggs. I have no idea where they washed the dishes.<br /><br /><br />Gramps told us later that he had come down to see if he could get some coffee before breakfast. Breakfast was from 8:00-9:00. A young oriental lady was one of the assistants and she snipped at him, "Breakfast not till 8:00!" Whoops. Then he had the shocking audacity to try to help himself to the cereals on the sideboard when breakfast began. "We fix it!" she snipped, and wouldn't let him fill his own bowl. :D Messy, interfering Americans!!!!<br /><br /><br />Yoiks! Maybe she was having a bad hair day.<br /><br /><br />Incidentally, this is totally off the subject, but one of the things I was enjoying about our Europe trip was that NO ONE had yet asked me if I went to Bob Jones. :D Heather and I get that all the time--we live in Greenville, we dress conservatively....you go to Bob Jones, right? We have gone to events in other states and had total strangers ask us that question. So far, no Europeans had interregated us on that point. :D<br /><br />We trekked off to the nearby tube station and began the mystery of unraveling which tube line to take to the tower. We ended up on a District Line train accidentally and had to switch after two stops to a Circle Line train, but it didn't matter...they were both on the way. The ride took about half an hour.<br /><br /><br />We had preordered tickets via the friendly turbaned proprietor at the Barry House, so all Dad had to do was pick them up. Then we entered the tower, right as a tour was beginning.<br /><br /><br />The tour guides for the Tower of London are called Beefeaters. And they are more than just tour guides--they are the keepers of the Tower and the Queen's own something-or-others. It's quite a prestigious position and you have to have served in the military for X number of years and so forth to be one. They wear navy and red uniforms with "ER" on the front, which means "Elizabeth Regis"--or some other Latin word beginning with "R," the gist of which means "Elizabeth is the Queen, buster, so mind your P's and Q's." (Well, maybe not the P's and Q's. :D) They are called Beefeaters because originally (like, 500 years ago) their salary was paid in beef.<br /><br /><p>Note from Heather: Something I had missed last time we came is that the Beafeaters are military men who have served honorably for, um, 20 years maybe? And been decorated and stuff like that. So they may appear to simiply be jolly tour guides, but they're actually brave, admirable men. Kinda cool.</p><p>Back to Raquelle: Our tour guide had a delightful sense of humor. He kept everyone laughing on the tour. There were several children near the front and he had a great time with them. He began to tell us the story of whichever two princes it was who were taken to the Tower and mysteriously disappeared and never heard from again, until two child skeletons were found about a hundred years ago. No one knows for sure who killed them, but it was the usual "kill-any-relatives-who-might-lay-claim-to-the-throne" scenario. (It's rather frightening how often that happened in English history.)</p><br />"They were just children," the guide said dramatically. "Young, innocent children.........LIKE YOU!" he bellowed at the kids in the front. They both jumped perceptibly. :D<br /><br /><br />He began telling us about the crown jewels. The scepter has the largest diamond in the world--530 carots. It's HUGE.<br /><br />"Wives," the guide smirked, "you can look at that beautiful, enormous diamond. Then look at that insignificant speck on your left hand and ask yourselves........."<br /><br /><br />"WHY?" wailed a woman in the front, glaring at her husband.<br /><br /><br />Everyone exploded with laughter.<br /><br /><br />"It's going to be a long day," her husband groaned.<br /><br />We saw the Tower green, where several famous private executions had taken place, such as Lady Jane Grey.A private execution was a perk, you understand---the riff-raff would have been executed in public.<br /><br /><br />The guide pointed out the area where the King (or Queen) would stay when they were living at the Tower. We also saw the area where the Beefeaters live. (Poor fellows....I saw laundry hung up out on a line. I guess not even the Privileged Elite get to have dryers. Did I mention the way we had to hang our clothes all over drying racks all over the apartment in Scotland?)<br /><br /><br />Near the end, we were taken to a small chapel where various Famous People were buried. The Beefeater warned us ahead of time, "Now listen carefully, ladies. I shall stand by the entrance to the door as you file in. Beware, oh beware! There is a step UP as you enter! I shall stand nearby to catch anyone who should fall--I will sweep you up in my arms! (I'm hoping at least some of you will fall!) And be aware that the step will also--yes, indeed---also be there on the way OUT. But don't worry, I'll catch you. Now, gents, if one of YOU should happen to fall........well, it's going to hurt." Haw haw!!!<br /><br /><br />When the tour was over, we went to the tower that houses the crown jewels.<br /><br /><br />I guess I should explain if I haven't already that the "Tower of London" is not just ONE tower. It's actually a huge complex of various towers, built at various times. The oldest tower is the White Tower, built by William the Conqueror. (Look him up, you should learn about him). I don't remember exactly when it was built, but William conquered England in 1066, so it was sometime around then. It's pretty awesome to see an intact structure that is about a thousand years old!<br /><br /><br />The British crown jewels are housed here, though not in the White Tower. As you walk through the building, there were large TV screens on the wall that project huge images of the various jewels--the crown, the scepter, the ring, etc. That is nice, because it gives you a chance to really see them up close. They also had a screen showing video clips from Queen Elizabeth's coronation. (She looked NERVOUS.)<br /><br /><br />After building up the suspense, at last you come to the jewels, which are in a huge vault. A "people mover" (a flat escalator thingie) slowly moves you on by the glass cases with the jewels. That 530-carat diamond was truly amazing!!! My goodness!!! However, we were feeling like old-timers by now....we'd seen the Scottish crown jewels and a bunch of crowns and jewels at the Residenz in Munich, so we were like, "Ah, very nice, hmmm, yes, methinks that jewel is a little bigger than the jewel on the Scottish crowns.....when is lunch?" :D :D :D<br /><br /><p>Note from Heather: Maybe YOU felt that way. I thought the jewels and crowns and gold dishes and maces were really cool!</p><p>Raquelle: Of course they were cool. I just felt like an old experienced hand at it. :D </p><p>As we left, we stumbled upon the end of a living history drama. Several people in costume were acting out an escape that had really happened at the Tower once upon a time. A "prisoner" was sitting outside his cell in one of the towers, rather haggard, with bloodied bandages around his wrists, presumably having been Most Dastardly Tortured. He was explaining to a "tower guard" why he should be given all the items that his wife had tried to send and had been confiscated by the guard. His wife had sent him paper, a quill, and an orange (the juice of which can make invisible ink). </p><p>"You see," the prisoner explained reasonably, "the orange is to help me regain strength in my hands....if I squeeze it, that helps the muscles in my arms."</p><p>The gullible guard accepted the explanation. "But," he said, "what about this feather? I don't know my letters--from the looks of you all (to the crowd) most of you don't either--but I have heard, yes, I've HEARD that you can use a feather like this for a pen!"</p><p>"Oh no, you see it's--it's a toothpick!" the prisoner assured him. </p><p>"Really?" said the guard, naively surprised. "Well, let's see...I've had a bit o' mutton stuck behind my left molar for several days....let me try!" He stuffed the end of the quill in his mouth and pretended to pick his teeth. Satisfied with the results, he accepted the explanation of the quill. </p><p>I don't remember what the explanation was for the paper, but it was something fairly ludicrous that the likeable guard fell for, hook, line and sinker. :D</p><p>So the prisoner got his stuff so that he could write secret messages. The guard put him back in the cell and started to walk away. Just then the prisoner's wife accosted the guard, pleading that he would allow her husband to go to the chapel that day for confession.</p><p>"You know I did that yesterday!" the guard exclaimed. "And I'm truly not supposed to do it at all! He is a close prisoner, after all! What kind of dreadful sin could he have committed between yesterday and today?" </p><p>[Note: A "close" prisoner is one that is allowed very little freedom to see people or move about to different places in the Tower.]</p><p>The wife tossed the guard a small bag of coins. </p><p>"Ah well," the guard conceded, "I suppose he could have committed something quite bad. I'll arrange it. But JUST THIS ONCE!"</p><p>He left to fetch the prisoner and the wife whispered her plot to us. The priest was going to help him escape through the chapel...I can't remember exactly how. They had tried the escape the night before but something had gone wrong, so they had to do it again. </p><p>Sure enough, the prisoner escaped. And the epilogue was that the priest arranged for the guard to flee to another country, as his life was in grave danger for his hand in the affair. And then they all lived happily ever after.</p><p>Heather: Lunch was next on the agenda. As we looked at our maps, we discovered that there was a nice cafe in the Tower grounds. We headed forthwith with all promptitude. To our pleasant surprise, there were LOTS of options for GOOD food! Wow! I got a hot lunch of some kind of beef concoction, green beans and "chips" (fries). And for dessert I ate a yummy slice of chocolate cake. Everyone else was equally satisfied with their grub. Oh, "grub" - that's such a low-class word. Shall we say, bill of fare instead?</p><p>Raquelle: I had a beef pie and something that was called "Refrigerator Cake" or something like that. It was Very Good and Very Unusual. It had bits of dried cherries and crispy cookie chunks in a kind of sticky fudgy chocolate base. Tastiful!</p><p>Right around lunch time I was moseying along and this lady came up and said, "Excuse me...aren't you from Greenville?"</p><p>"Yes," I said, surprised--and a little leery. I could hear it now....she was going to ask <em>DoyougotoBobJones</em>?</p><p>"And you and your sister play the harp! You played at our church!" </p><p>She named the church and I recognized it as one that I had been a substitute pianist at for a few weeks here and there, and we had also played harps there. As we talked, I noticed the rest of her family and then I remembered them---her husband looks just like Dick Van Dyke. :D Turns out they had moved to France because of her husband's work, and they were on vacation touring, just like us.</p><p>So it was fun to run in to them, but I was anxious to escape before they thought to ask The Question. If someone asked me about Bob Jones one more time, I knew I was going to turn into some kind of fearful blue lizard, or else have my hair cork up into little spindles of macaroni. Thankfully, they didn't ask, so you can all be grateful that your friend Raquelle remained a normal human. :D </p><p>We parted cordially and went our way. Mom read my mind and muttered in my ear, "That was close." Heh heh heh! :D<br /></p><br />Heather: Thus fortified after lunch, we headed out for more touring. We agreed to split up, as various people wanted to see various things. Grandma decided to sit on a bench and watch people, which she informed us afterward had been most rewarding. She managed to successfully identify the European current styles for shoes and skirts. Raquelle had some places of her own to visit, and Dad, Mom, Gramps and I headed for the White Tower.<br /><br /><br />I quickly got bored with the formal tour of the White Tour, because the tour guide was leaving out all kinds of interesting tidbits that I knew. I shared the tidbits with everyone after the tour, but meanwhile, I headed off on my own to see the armour collection. All kinds of famous knights' and kings' armour is housed here, and I intended to look it over. G.A. Henty is always describing "our hero's" armour and of course, your armour was the difference between keeping your life in a battle, or losing it. So it was pretty darn important back then. I was particularly awestruck with some of the suits of armour that had gold and silver inlaid. Very beautiful.<br /><br /><br />Once through, I decided to go sit on a bench myself and rest until time for all of us to meet. That's when I caught the tail end of another live drama. Raquelle and I are writing it up in another post because it was kinda long. Raquelle had seen the whole thing from the beginning and I just caught the end. However, they informed us they would be doing the whole skit again in half an hour. I hurried inside to tell the rest of the folks to be outside in half an hour so they could watch it. As I said, we'll put it in another entry. Suffice it to say now that it was quite entertaining and we all enjoyed it.<br /><br />Raquelle: I had SEEN the White Tower last time and I wasn't interested in seeing lots of armor again. I wanted to explore the other towers. So I went from here to there, looking at different ones. One of the most fascinating aspects of the towers I went into the was the graffiti. As in, 500-year-old graffiti that prisoners had carved into the wall. There were quite a few Catholic inscriptions that Catholic prisoners had inscribed. Another guy had carved a complete astrological calendar--quite impressive. This graffiti was sprinkled liberally all over the walls. It was pretty fascinating--really brought the place alive.<br /><br />While I was in one of the towers, a docent brought a little group of school children in. She began telling us about an escape from the Tower. The gentlemen who was imprisoned was a close prisoner and the guard was supposed to come in, lock the door behind him, set down the food tray, then unlock the door, leave, and relock it.<br /><br />The prisoner never spoke to the guard. In fact, he never even looked at the guard. He would always stand silently in front of the fireplace, his back to the door, staring into the fire. He did this day after day and the guard grew just a little careless and failed to lock the door behind him when he entered the room. Meanwhile, the prisoner had been saving straw from his bedding and one day he stuffed his clothes and placed them in front of the fire, as if he was standing there as usual. Then he sneaked out the door when the guard came in. Aha! Very ingenious!<br /><br />I went to see the ravens briefly...ravens lived at the Tower early on. The story goes that Somebody Somewhere (I can't remember who) prophesied that if the ravens ever left the Tower, the kingdom would collapse. So now they keep some ravens there with their wings clipped, so that the kingdom will never fall and we'll all live happily ever after. :D<br /><br />I watched the little living history event that we're putting in another post and enjoyed it tremendously. I had a great time watching it the second time and memorizing the crazy lines so I could write it up later. :D<br /><br />Heather: At the end of the drama, we headed back to the cafe for our "tea" - that is, hot chocolate and whatever gorp anybody wanted. I had some scones with jam.<br /><br />Raquelle: (It was an enormous scone, she shared with me. :D But I opted for sparkling water--"water with gas"-- instead of hot chocolate. :D)<br /><br />Heather: Then we decided to take a few minutes and actually walk up on Tower Bridge. That's the famous London Bridge you always see in pictures. The proper name is Tower Bridge, however, because it's right by the Tower complex. (The REAL London Bridge is actually in Arizona. Some guy bought it, thinking he was buying the Tower Bridge. Oops.) Last time we came to England, the Tower Bridge had been closed to pedestrians. But it was open again so we walk part way across.<br /><br />It's quite a large bridge and actually is a drawbridge for the few times a week that big ships go through. Of course, it spans the Thames River (which is pronounced Temz, in case you're wondering). We took pictures and then headed back to the tube to go home.<br /><br />For dinner that night, we decided to go for something American (and something neaby) and therefore headed for a Garfunkles. We all crammed into a table for four and quite enjoyed our meal.<br /><br />Raquelle: I didn't....I ordered a cottage pie and it was awful. Tasted all right, but the meat in it was ground beef that was mostly boinky non-chewable stuff. Oh woe.<br /><br />Heather: After dinner, Grandma and Gramps let us all hang out in their room for a bit, as it was a leetle larger than everyone else's. Not much, but at least we could all fit. :D. Raqu and I brought down chocolate and lemon drops and Grandma made tea for everyone. We sat and chatted for a while and then, fortified with chocolate and Lady Grey, hiked up six flights of stairs to our rooms for the night.<br /><br />Raqu and I, as usual, opened our window because it was stuffy. And we pulled the curtains open once the lights were out so we could enjoy the evening lights of London for a night light--the quiet glow from the large cobblestoned courtyard of the neighborhood behind us. And thus, another day ended.Heather Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03350882971891496288noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3244533696111728633.post-32674644922177159832007-09-21T12:02:00.000-07:002007-09-21T14:54:53.121-07:00Back to LondonRaquelle: One interesting feature about many lodging places in the UK is that they don't have a coffeepot in each room--they have a tea kettle. It's a little plastic "kettle" (think kind of like those clunky Tupperware juice containers) with a metal coil inside. Plug it in, turn it on.........and nothing happens. Drat, that's right---you have to turn the plug on too. Ahem: Plug it in, turn on the plug, turn on the kettle and POOF! In about 60 seconds you have hot boiling water.<br /><br /><br />We each had a kettle in our room at the Old Malt House, although we had to get Jenny to show us how to use it.<br /><br /><br />Ah yes, Jenny. Jenny was a jewel. She was a maid-of-all-work at the Malt House, a middle-aged lady with short brown hair and blue eye liner. She was the bustliest, friendliest lady--always ready to lend a helping hand, very warm and lively, and altogether a perfect hostess. Did I mention her delicious accent? :D She had that charming British way of leaving the "t" out of the middle of a word---hence, she gave us assistance with our tea "keh 'els." :D<br /><br /><br />Alas, this morning (after our hearty breakfast and hot tea), we had to check out. Bummer. The Malt House was definitely the best place we stayed at. So quaint, so country, so charming....I think I'd like to back there for my honeymoon. Somebody hurry up and round me up a groom for the wedding, okay? :D<br /><br /><br />First order on the agenda: Drive to Heathrow Airport and drop off the rental cars.<br /><br /><br />That sounds too ordinary and easy.<br /><br /><br /><em>Sinister music builds.....sharks with big, open jaws swim up.....lightening flickers ominously in the black, sullen sky.....</em><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:180%;">Did you say DRIVE TO HEATHROW????</span><br /><br /><br />*Faint with terror*<br /><br /><br />Let's just say that none of us were looking forward to this part. Metaphorically speaking, Heathrow isn't just a zoo, it's a zoo with all the animals let out and obstructing traffic. :D Most of us were nervous about the drive--Dad and Heather, because they had to navigate us there, Mom because she had to drive there, and the rest of us because we had to ride in the car with Mom. :D<br /><br /><br />After farewells all around with the friendly Malt House folks, we piled in the cars with a good deal of trepidation. First came the 15 minutes of country driving on the eensy narrow roads. Sometimes some warped people get the idea that they should actually park on these roads (not that there's anywhere ELSE to park) and then the fun begins! Especially when you---eeeek!----meet a bus-----(covers eyes!)----coming from the----yikes!-----opposite direction------ooooooooooh-----------whew!!!! Down with buses! Bah!<br /><br /><br />Then it was on to the motorway. In the US, the major roads are interstates, and abbreviated as I-85, etc. There the major roads are "Motorways" as we've said before, so we spent some time on M4 and M5. Or maybe M6.<br /><br /><br />We stopped at another Welcome Break center to gas the cars (cough, that was a chunk of money, even if it was diesel!) and refresh ourselves with coffee or (in Heather's and my case) hot chocolate. Mmmmm!<br /><br /><br />Have you ever driven around a roundabout? If you don't know, roundabouts are the equivelant of the US 4-way stop. A few of the largest ones will actually have traffic lights, but most don't. A roundabout is a big circle. In the center of the circle is a garden or something scenic, or if it's a tiny one, it's just a big white humped circle in the road. The roundabout will have 3 or 4 roads that lead into (and out of) it. So if you want to turn right onto a new street, you don't stop at an intersection and turn right....you enter the roundabout and drive around the circle until you get to the street you want.<br /><br /><br />Of course, you're just supposed to KNOW who has the right-of-way. We finally decided it was the cars already IN the circle. (Instead of "Yield" signs, the equivelant sign is "Give Way.") We were happy to Give Way. In fact, in our car, we would have been happy to sit there for many moons and Give Way to all the cars until the circle was absolutely, positively, completely clear. But such luxuries are not possible when you're following another car. Phooey.<br /><br /><br /><p>Heather: They made such a big deal out of nothing. You know, there's some greenies on the West Coast (Washington maybe?) that are trying to institute roundabouts over here. I read an article about it. The British can't figure out why we don't like them. They're so logical. You just enter the roundabout and keep going till you exit. No slowing down required, no braking, no wondering if it's your turn at the 4-way stop. And if you miss your exit on the roundabout, you just go around again... and again... and again... until the people in the car behind you get on the walkie talkie and say, "Ray, WHERE are we GOING?" Simple!</p><p>Raquelle: Providentially, the drive to Heathrow turned out to be FAR easier than expected. There was a simple exit off the motorway, and a simple drive through the airport streets following the signs for the rental car drop-off. And poof! That was it!!! YAY!!!!!! We were all thrilled, but especially Mom. :D</p><p>Heather: HA! Simple, she says. Dad and I were sweating it in the front car. Our directions said to merge with Bath Street and then make this turn and that turn. The problem was knowing once we were on Bath Street, because the signs very helpfully direct you to the proper lanes for Bath Street long before it appears. We actually thought we were ON Bath street when we suddenly noticed a sign showing a turn onto Bath Street. Or rather, Raquelle noticed it and squawked it over the walkie talkie. We hastily changed lanes at the last possible minute and then followed the rest of our directions, which made more sense. As we pulled into the Hertz parking long, Dad let out a huge long sigh of relief, and I did too. :D</p><br />Raquelle: After thoroughly examining the car to make sure we hadn't left something crucial behind (like M&Ms), we hopped on a bus that took us to the train section of the airport. I hate getting on and off the train with all our luggage, because you have such a short time to heave it all on and off. I'm always afraid in all the hubbub we'll go off without a suitcase. However, we managed just fine.<br /><br /><br />Dad bought train tickets and we all climbed aboard with all our bags. Destination: Paddington Station.<br /><br /><br />The train ride took about 1/2 an hour, if I remember right. Paddington Station is a very large, busy station. Some out-of-the-way train stations have nothing more than a platform, a little shelter, and a ticket machine. But Paddington has many, many trains coming in and out and is a large building with lots of bustling and crowds.<br /><br /><br />Upon arrival, we grabbed a quick lunch. Quick by European standards, that is. Several folks opted for Burger King but I chose a chicken pie at another vendor. Hmmm. This was definitely not as good as some of the others on the trip. It was<em> very</em> rubbery dough. Sort of like silly putty. I ate it as best I could without making too big of a mess or sticking it to the wall (isn't that what you do with silly putty?). It tasted all right though.<br /><br /><br />Heather: Being a big dough eater myself, I thought it was 'liscious!<br /><br /><br />Raquelle: I like dough as IS dough. I don't like dough as is RUBBER.<br /><br /> After procuring the necessary number of 20-pences, we headed for the restroom. Yes, they charge you for restrooms in train and tube stations. As I went through the turnstile at the doorway, I saw an extra 20-pence that the machine had spit out. Idly I picked it up and put it in my pocket. On my way back out I noticed a poor little Japanese lady trying to get in. The turnstile machine ate her pence but the turnstile wouldn't turn. She looked at me in great distress. Ha! Cool! I walked over and handed her the extra 20-pence I had found. That time it worked. How nice to be able to help someone!<br /><br /><br />After munching our lunch, Dad and Mom departed to find the hotel. Supposedly the hotel was just a few blocks from the station. While they were gone, the rest of us stood around our pile of luggage in the train station. And stood. And stood. And watched the pigeons in the building. Yes, pigeons. The entrance to the train station from the sidewalk was simply a very large multi-vehicle-wide walkway. Where people can walk in off the street, so can pigeons. It seems a little odd to see them bobbing around the crowds and benches INSIDE.<br /><br /><br />I was beginning to wonder what had happened to Mom and Dad. Did they stop to go shopping? Get run over by a taxi? Opted to freshen up at the hotel and go on a tour bus ride? Prop up their feet and eat chocolate? Hey, there's an idea! I went rummaging in my bag for some M&Ms. Mmmmm!<br /><br /><br />Finally we saw them coming back in, plowing through the crowds of people. They assured us the hotel was nearby - now that they knew the proper way to get there. So we hoisted all our bags and suitcases and commenced down the crowded sidewalks.<br /><br /><br />The hotel WAS nearby. It was called the "Barry House." It was a B&B of sorts, but without the "quaintness, cuteness, quietness" typically associated with a B&B. Basically, it was just a tiny family-owned hotel that served breakfast.<br /><br /><br />The lobby, if you could call it that, was about 7 ft by 10 ft. Two small puffy couches and a rack of tourist brochures about filled it up. The reception desk was a very small counter, behind which was a very messy-looking little office space. The proprietor was an older gentleman and very friendly, although I must admit that I felt a little paranoid when I saw his turban. =:O His wife, however, wasn't wearing a burka...she was wearing a sari. So I don't know what religion they were.<br /><br /><br /><p>Heather: They were Hindus, darlin'.</p>Raquelle: Hindus wear turbans???<br /><br />A bellboy---that is, a middle-aged oriental man---assisted us with our luggage. And it was a good thing, because we found that two of the rooms were up on the fourth floor. And no, there was no elevator. (Actually, over there it's called a "lift." And the first floor is called the "ground" floor and what we call the 2nd floor is actually the "1st" floor.) The red-carpeted stairways were very narrow, with tiny little landings on each floor.<br /><br /><p>Heather: Just so there's no misunderstanding, due to the 11-foot ceilings on the lower floors, we had no less than SIX FLIGHTS of stairs to navigate. And they were spiral stairs too. Uphill both ways, in the snow... er, wait, no snow. Never mind that part.</p><br />Raquelle: Thankfully there was a ground-floor room for Grandma and Gramps.<br /><br /><br />Arriving at the fourth floor, we inspected our rooms. Synopsis: Clean, and about the size of a postage stamp. You know, one of the little ones with some Grand Dignitary's Head on it, not the big splashy ones with flowers or National Beetle Heritage Day on them. There were two twin beds, about a foot apart, with a small night table in between. One bed touched the wall by the window. The other bed was only about three feet from the opposite wall. Between the foot of the beds and the desk and wardrobe, there was literally only about 18 inches. The entire bathroom was about as big as a bathtub. The shower was simply a curtained-off corner with a drain and showerhead, about 2 ft x 2 ft. I'm not exaggerating.<br /><br /><br />Now, WHERE to put our SUITCASES in a room like that!!! Yikes!!! Well, we made do but it wasn't pretty. :D<br /><br /><br />Heather: They made such a big deal outta nothin'. Just shove the beds against the wall, stick the third suitcase in the corner behind the wardrobe and put my suitcase under the desk. No problem! At least one person at a time could stand in the room!<br /><br /><br />Raquelle: There was no thermostat or air-conditioner. If you wanted air, you opened the window (a sign warned us against placing things on the windowsill........after all, there was no screen) and turned on the floor fan that was provided. Thankfully it was a mild time of year....I'd hate to stay in a place like that during the summer! Ick!!!<br /><br /><br />Everyone opted to take a nap. It had been a pretty steady day of travel.<br /><br /><br />After naps, we decided to go for a walk in Hyde Park. Actually, it started off as Kensington Park where we entered it, but merged with Hyde Park.<br /><br /><br />Heather: Sigh, let a non-geographically-challenged person explain it. You've heard of the famous Serpentine in London? It's big, long lake. On one side in Kensington Gardens, overlooked by, of course, Kensington Palace. On the other side is Hyde Park. We walked up Kensington Gardens, crossed the Serpentine, and came back down Hyde Park.<br /><br /><br />Raquelle: Oh. Right. What she said.<br /><br />Since very few London flats have any grounds, if you want to see nature, you go to the park. And what a park! Beautiful gardens and ponds and trees and ducks and very tame squirrels who approach you rather presumtuously to see if you're secreting any nuts for them. We saw several people feeding the squirrels...in fact, as one person handed out nuts, a very LARGE mouse (or maybe a small rat) crept up and joined in the munchies. It was sleek, prim little thing, obviously one of the Privileged Elite Rodents for living in Hyde Park.<br /><br /><br />We watched in amusement as some pigeons drank from one of the ponds. Someone had constructed a tiny wooden "bird ladder." It was a small board with little strips of wood nailed at horizontal intervals. The birds would step on a strip and then slide down to the next strip till they reached the water. They all took turns, with proper birdly decorum. It was quite cute.<br /><br /><br />However, the stunning scenery and glorious day could not altogether soothe my troubles. Upon entering the park I fished out my camera and tried to turn it on. It didn't turn on. It tried to turn on and the lens came out about halfway and stopped, making a ghastly grinding noise. We fiddled with it a little bit but to no avail. I was crushed. I was devasted. I was beyond consolation. I had finally figured out how to use my new digital camera and actually gotten beyond the basic "flash on" or "flash off" settings and was having a rip-roaring good time taking pictures of EVERYTHING and experimenting with different settings.<br /><br /><br />But alas! There was to be no more fun!!! Sniff!!! Wail!!!!<br /><br /><br />Okay, I was immature. Maybe I was just overtired. But I completely lost my self-control and spent the entire stroll through the park sniffling and blubbing behind my sunglasses. (Gotta love sunglasses!) I was in the uttermost depths of despair and the iron had entered my soul and it was such a tragedy!!!! (Do I sound like Anne Shirley yet? :D)<br /><br /><br />However, it was at least a pretty walk.<br /><br /><p>Note from Heather: Not to sound calloused, but I had a blast taking pictures in the park! :D</p><p>Raquelle: Oh, hush up!!!! (sticks out tongue!!!)</p><p>On our way back we saw a Grand Mucky-Muck going along the streets in a horse-drawn carriage with a liveryman at attention riding on the back. For a moment I hoped it was the Queen but then I reflected that I couldn't take a picture, so what was the use? Bah humbug!!! :D I don't know who it was, but whoever they were, they had sure stopped up traffic behind them. It kind of added to the effect though....the long line of black taxis (which look sort of like Model T's) looked like some sort of parade escort. </p><br />Not knowing our way around too well, we ended up at a nearby Italian restaurant for supper, as it was close by. Man, these Europeans just can't figure out how to do pizza. Bleh. Thin- crusted, odd-flavored stuff! Supper was rather subdued, as everyone else was tired and I was still feeling desolate over my camera. Usually when everyone else is tired, I am too, so I run my mouth and try to liven things up, because I always hit a stage of hyper hilarity before my final <em>I'm-going-to-collapse-in-five-minutes</em> state of exhaustion. But tonight I wasn't in the mood. Grrrr.<br /><br /><br />Thankfully we made our escape before the jazz pianist and saxaphonist got fairly started. It wouldn't have been so bad if they hadn't been within pea-throwing distance of our table. Shudder. They were two staid, dignified older gentlemen, so they probably would have been aghast if we'd thrown peas. So we escaped before the temptation mastered us.<br /><br /><br />Then back to the Barry House, up the obnoxious six flights of stairs, half an hour of blogging and to bed!<br /><br /><br />Stay tuned for tomorrow's adventures at the Tower of London!Heather Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03350882971891496288noreply@blogger.com0