Trip to England: Day 3, part 1

Trip To England: Day Three


Raquelle: 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.

Heather: Cheapskate? The breakfast was FREE! Due to good ole Dad and his Marriott points. (World-traveler sugar daddies are awesome.)

Raquelle: NOW you tell me it was free......

Heather: I told you then too!

Raquelle: *crunches dry cereal loudly* Whazzat? Can’t hear ya! *crunch crinch grackle smack*

Heather: 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.

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.

Raquelle: 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

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

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

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.

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.....”

Heather: All right, all right. This is NOT a genteel topic of conversation.

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.

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?

Mom went over to him and observed that she put her money in but the turnstile wouldn’t work.

“Twenniestensonly,” he snapped. We looked blank. He repeated himself louder. “TWENNIESTENSONLY!”

“Well...I don’t have the right combination of coins...can I just hand you the money?” Mom asked.

“NO!” he snarled belligerently. Then he turned his back on us and walked off.

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

Raquelle: 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.

Sixteen times.

Just thought you’d like to know.

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.............”

Er, sorry.

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.

Guess where Car A was?

In Banff-ff-ff!

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.)

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?

Such suspense is terrible. The stuff of nightmares. And daymares.

:cue dramatic music:

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.

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

We're finally on the train!

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

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.)

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.

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.

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

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.

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

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!

“So you’re a piano teacher, eh?” Tom asked me. He meditated on his boyish past. “Ah yes. I ‘did’ piano once,” he smirked.

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.

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?”

“No, we’re Christians,” I said.

“Ah! Mormons?” he asked.

“No......” We searched across the American/English barrier for the right word. “We’re Baptists.”

Blank look. “Protestants.”

“Ah, Protestants! Okay!”

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.

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.

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.

“I’m sorry....what?” I asked apologetically again.

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!”

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.

“You know, we could just take a taxi,” Jeannie suggested sweetly.

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.

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.

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.

“LET’S JUST TAKE A TAXI!” Heather snorted.

Fine.

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.

The poor helpful tram driver is probably still wondering what became of us.

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.

“Oh look, they’re rolling out a red carpet for us!” we snickered to each other.

Because, of course, it's all about US!

The chandelier of the Octagon Room

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!)

Enjoying our tea!

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.

Heather: 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:


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.

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.

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

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.

Raquelle: 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.)

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.

“Antiques…you know…a place where they would sell old things,” we explained.

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.

Heather: 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.

The exterior of the Midland Hotel

Raquelle: 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.

Heather: 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.

Raquelle: Heather is not doing this place justice. It was something of a shopping mall and its name is “Afflecks.”

Doesn’t that make you think of the Aflac duck? *quacks* AFLAC! AFLAC!

Anyway, the website for Affleck’s assures us that it is, “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.”

*quacks* AFLAC! AFLAC!

For instance, Afflecks boasts the Frankie Knuckles store. Consider this description, verbatim from the website. Don’t ask me what half of this means: “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.”

AFLAC! AFLAC!

No, definitely not the place for four prissy ladies who want to poke about some shelves of old china and Grandma's handkerchiefs.

AFLAC! AFLAC!

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.

Heather: 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.

Raquelle: 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.

Heather: 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.

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:

Raquelle: 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.

“They are in the box,” the cashier assured me.

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?”

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.

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

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.

“I TOLD you to spend more time on your homework,” lectured one fireman, jiggling a wire.

“No more late nights for YOU,” scolded another, flipping a switch.

“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.

To which the elevator responded by sticking out its tongue and saying, “AFLAC!”

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.

Heather: 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.

Raquelle: 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.

Us outside of T. K. Maxx

We enjoyed browsing the shoe department and clowning around with all the Ghastly Ugly Stylish Shoes.

This one's fer Grandma R.......doncha think it's trewly fashunable?

Finally we headed back to the hotel and checked in. Heather and Mom’s room was Rather Interesting.

Heather: 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.

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.)

Raquelle: 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.

“Did you check the wardrobe?” the clerk inquired politely.

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.

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.

Heather: What is this “lost” stuff? We weren’t LOST. We knew exactly where we weren’t.

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:

But it was an ADVENTURE.

Raquelle: 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.

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.

Stay tuned for more......and meanwhile, would you PUH-LEASE ask Inspector Sans to report to the Station Inspection Room IMMEJATE?

Jane Austen England Tour - Day 1

Sense and Sensibility Tour: Day 1 and 2

This is really long. Go get a cup of coffee and read it anyway. It’ll bless you, we’re sure. *cheesy grin*

Prologue: 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.

Raquelle: 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.

However, the next morning Mom said, “So..........I was thinking........let’s go on the trip after all!”

Long story short, we decided to go.

Without Dad.

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.

Heather: Banff is in CANADA, you nincompoop.

Raquelle: *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..........)

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

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.

1. Heather hates being cold. She melts, just like the Wicked Witch of the West.
2. Heather hates flippy-floppy droopy draping things around her when she’s trying to use a camera.
3. When conditions 1 or 2 are present, Heather gets GRUMPY.

So let’s just say I insisted she needed a Spencer jacket out of self-defense. 

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

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....

While I was sewing, Heather was organizing our travel.

Heather: 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.

Raquelle: 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.

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*

Finally, all costumes completed and all bags packed, we headed for the airport on Friday morning, September 7.

Too many suitcases!


Heather: 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.

Raquelle: 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.

Heather: And you don’t wind up in Banff-ff-ff.

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!)

Raquelle: Coolattas are more expensive in New Jersey than in South Carolina. Humph.

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.”

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.

Heather: 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.

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.

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.

Raquelle: Suddenly I understand biblical references to money changers and get why Jesus was so put out with them! :D

Heather: 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.

Raquelle: 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.”

Heather: 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Raquelle: 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.

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.)

Heather: 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.

Raquelle: As we got close, we could see the Thames River and I even saw the Tower Bridge! Cool!

Heather: 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:

:sigh:

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!!

Raquelle: Oh, come come now, it’s not that simple. You forgot about the Saga of the Phones.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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*

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.........

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.

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.”

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.

Heather: It’s prolly in Banff-ff-ff by now.

Raquelle: Shuddup.

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.

Heather: We took the Heathrow Express to Paddington Station.

Raquelle: Guess what greeted our eyes in Paddington Station? A Vodafone store! All that durn headache in Hijous Heathrow for nothin’! *throws breakable objects*

Heather: 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.

Raquelle: 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.

Heather: As we sat resting, we remembered that the cameras were still in the baggage. Oops.

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?)

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.

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.

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.

Raquelle: 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.

What do they drive like in Banff-ff-ff?

Heather: 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.

Take a look at this snazzy red cage crinoline!


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.

The courtyard of the V&A.

We were still really tired however.

Zzzzzzzz.......

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.

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.

Raquelle: See? I TOLD you that getting salads at the airport was a good idea. Nobody ever listens to me. *stalks off muttering*

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.

A relaxed supper in the room!


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.

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:

1. Mom is a Cleanie.
2. Raquelle is a Messie.
3. Under stress, they both increase these respective habits exponentially.

They cannot possibly share a hotel room together without collectively driving each other BONKERS.

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.......

Heather: 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.

“They KNOW how to operate the door,” Raquelle said politely. “The key just doesn’t work.”

“Well....er.....ah.....the technician needs to show you, can you meet him there? Oh thank you!” the clerk gushed.

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).

“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.

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.

Raquelle: 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?”

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.”

Satisfied, I staggered out of bed and turned it off.

Then we all slept blissfully and dreamed of Banff-ff-ff, I’m sure.

Stay tuned for the next installment….

Mind the Gap

Well, 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. :)

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.

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!

We'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....

Off To England... Almost

Three 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!

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.

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:

Heather & Raquelle: Let's go!
Mom: Can we afford it?
Dad: Let's be clear on this - I DON'T want to go.

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:

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.

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.

So here we are, one year later, almost packed and ready to roll. Some pressing questions are still on our minds however.

Will our bonnets make it in one piece?

Will our supply of chocolate hold out?

Does English gluten free food taste as nasty as regular English food?

Will we survive SIX HOURS of layover in Newark airport?

And finally, are the four cats going to survive only having good ole Dad to watch after them?

Stay tuned to find out!

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!!!"

So Cheerio, y'all! Check us out in a day or two to see if we're still alive!

150 Years Later.... Day 1

Heather: 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.

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.

Gettin' Ready
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.

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 USS Yorktown event staff. Yeah. We had a ball on the hanger deck of the WWII-era aircraft carrier at Patriots Point. How cool is that?

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.

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.

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).

Here is the calendar in all its glory:



Raquelle: 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.....

Heather: 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.

At this point, I shall allow the whole family to offer their perspectives of this hysterical...er, historical trip.

Grandma: 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.

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.

Gramps: 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.

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.

From Dad's After-Action Report (AAR): 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.

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.

Heather: 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!

Gettin' There
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.

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.

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.

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."

OK, so it's a dumb reenactor's joke, don't roll your eyes like that!

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...

Off-Stage WHACK

Heather Oh right, what was I saying? Ahem...

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?

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.

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.)

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.

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....

Off-Stage WHACK

HEATHER: 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.

So FINALLY we're done and we pile back into all three vehicles and head for our rental house.

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.

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!

Of course, I'm not sure Mom saw it that way... and I Grandma definitely had an opinion...

Grandma: 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.

Heather: 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.

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.

Walk to the bathroom: Creak thump creaky creak.
Walk to the bed: Creeeeeeak groan.
Walk to the kitchen: Er-eeee, creaky, creeeeeak.
Breath heavily: Creaky creaky creaky.

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.

End of Day 1.

Teaser from Dad's AAR for Day 2: 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.

Tennessee Gathering, Day 3

Heather:
Highlight: Sleeping late. Or rather, laying in bed late. Once people started stirring at 6 am, it was a little tough to continue sleeping.

Highlight: 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.

Lowlight: Forgetting to bring my towel along. Nuts. So much for my Highly Organized Shower Kit.

Highlight: A sweet person (Mary Kate, maybe? I couldn't see over the shower door) went and got my towel for me! Thanks, nameless one!

Raquelle:
Lowlight: 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.

:trips over pile of clothes:



Highlight: 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----

Heather:
We got it, Raquelle, we got it. Chill.

Raquelle:
:offended: I was just TRYING to EXPLAIN.........

Heather:
Well, STOP.

Highlight: Breakfast. Did we mention that they actually COOK the eggs the TN reunion instead of serving you runny gloppy goo? Very cool.

Raquelle:
GHASTLY LOWLIGHT: 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.)



Highlight: 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?"

Hey, am I smug or what? Did I bring an iron? Of COURSE I brought an iron! :buffs nails airily:

(Jason has seen our set-up at reenactments, he knows whereof he speaks when he says we bring everything but the kitchen sink. :D)

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

Heather:
Highlight: 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.

Highlight: 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.

Highlight: Charging into the girls' dorm to get my tennis shoes and being informed of A Plot. Involving water balloons.

Entertaining Moment: 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.

DISCLAIMER: 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.

Raquelle:
DISCLAIMER: (assumes Sergeant Schultz voice): I know nnnnnnnnnnnothing, I see nnnnnnnnnnnnothing....

I am totally innocent.



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.

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...



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.



Heather:
Major Highlight: 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.

Lowlight: Watching the whole crew start to turn the wrong way.

Highlight: 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:



Lowlight: 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.

Raquelle:
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.


see more Lolcats and funny pictures

Heather:
Highlight: 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.

Entertaining Moment: 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.

Highlight: Hitting the ball BOTH times I was up at bat! YEEHAW! I didn't hopelessly embarrass myself!

Highlight: Catching the ball the only time it came towards me in the outfield. YEEEHAW. Another non-embarassing moment!

Entertaining Moment: 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.

Raquelle:
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?

Hopelessly confused. Whatever.

Heather: Yeah, but the pitcher IS supposed to put the ball over the PLATE. See?

Major Highlight In A Blond's Life: 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.

Highlight: Watching the actual good players during the game. And the entertaining players. Like Kamon.

Lowlight: Our team lost. But Jason is an awesome coach. Really! I think everybody had fun.

Lowlight: Having to quit for lunch.

Highlight: Riding back in the Allison girls' car. You will not be surprised to know that they had bluegrass music playing.

Raquelle:
Awright awready enough the thports-thports-thports. You all had fun. Marvelous. Let's get back to the interesting part now.

Highlight: 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.

Highlight: Chatting with Mrs. Ferrar and Jo the Merry while working on my cap.

Lowlight: The youngest three Ferrar girls looked bored and lonesome.

Highlight: 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.




Highlight: Playing dominoes with the three Ferrar girls and several other cronies. We had a Highly Delightful Time and played until lunch time.

Heather:
Lowlight: 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:



Highlight: 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.

Raquelle:
You really did that? Gosh, what a greedy-gus.

Heather: 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?

Highlight (I think): 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.

Highlight: 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.*

*Disclaimer: For those who don't know us or Stacy personally, we were JOKING. Stacy's just a nut, that's all.



Raquelle:
Highlight? Jason trying to hook me on metal--AGAIN. Didn't work. Never does. Gotta give him points for optimism....








Heather:
Devious Highlight: Wandering outside with my camera to be ready for the Great Water Balloon Caper.

Hilarious Highlight: 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).

Highly Entertaining Moment: Watching the girls open fire from above with the water ballons. You never saw so many guys move so fast!



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.

Reminder of Disclaimer: 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.

Raquelle: I know nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnothing, I see nnnnnnnnnnnnnnothing........



Julie managed to get the second half of the Great Water Balloon Caper on video - here it is.



Heather:
Lowlight: 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.

Raquelle:
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!!!!



(Do you like how the story is getting more and more embellished each time I tell it?)

Heather:
Highlight: 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.

Highlight: 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:



Highlight: 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.

Lowlight: 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.....

Whoops, sorry, got carried away there.

Lowlight: 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.

Highlight: Taking pictures from the swinging bridge... note Mrs. Reynolds waving to me down there.



Lowlight: 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.

Highlight: Crossing BACK over the swinging bridge BEFORE Dad. :D

Raquelle:
We interrupt this nonsense with the Interesting Part, which is what *I* was doing.

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.



Highlight: 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.



Highlight: 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.

Heather:
Highlight: Arriving back at the dorms tired out and being served a yummy taco dinner! Did I mention we had some fabulous cooks?

Raquelle:
I was standing by Kamon in line for dinner. He was muttering things under his breath about girls who throw water balloons.

"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."

"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."

Uh-oh.

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.



Heather:
Lowlight: 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

Highlight: 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:

Raquelle:
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.



Heather: 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:

Raquelle:
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.

Heather:
Highlight: 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."



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.

As we were working on hair, someone was fiddling with their outfit and said, "Does anyone have a safety pin?"

"Yes, we do," I reported. Whereupon, someone (I forget who) said, "You girls are just like our MOTHERS! You bring everything we forgot!" LOL

Raquelle:
Highlight: 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.......



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:

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.)

2. Bring extra, because everyone will want yours.

Wait, that was two rules. Does that make it two rules of thumb or one rule of thumbs?

Heather: Depends on if you're counting rules or thumbs. And in case you're wondering, you have two thumbs.



Raquelle: 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.



Highlight: Throwing on my own dress and gussying myself up last minute. Thanks for helping, Mom!

Highlight: My dad set up our sound system stuff AGAIN. Thanks Dad!

Note: Now we just need to keep the masses' sticky fingers off of it.



Highlight: The gaggle of girls mincing their way to the dance floor. Everyone looked so pretty!



Heather:
Highlight: 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?







Raquelle:
Highlight: 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:

Wait a minute? What's all the laughter? What's all the hooting and clapping?

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!!!!



What a riot, I 'bout laughed myself sick.

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??????????




Heather:
Highlight: 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.

Raquelle: You mean the NOT-hidden bossy side.

Heather: Quiet, poopsie, it's MY turn to write.

Highlight: Every time I decided to sit out a dance, I got asked to dance anyway.

Lowlight: This made my feet HURT.

Highlight: But I never had so much FUN making my feet hurt!

Highlight: 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.

Lowlight: 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."

Lowlight: Trying to follow Jason's advice. Let's just say it wasn't ladylike. But hey, we got in line for the dance!

Highlight: Dancing the Physical Snob with someone who knows how to look really snobby. Maybe it's that upper crust Virginia snootiness?

Raquelle:
Highlight: Did I mention I had this terribly foofy swishy dress?

INTERRUPTION!!! And now, from your ONLY decent talk radio station, WD40, we bring you the LATEST 2010 election coverage!





















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.

Raquelle
Lowlight: 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??????????????

Oooooh, those horrible finkish guys! Silly string? They DARED to interrupt a FORMAL DANCE with SILLY STRING????

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:





Item: 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!!!!

:iz smug:

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!!!!!

Highlight: Wasn't it funny that the GUYS then had to spend the next 15 minutes sweeping up the mess they made? :D




Heather: Alright, Blog Hog, let somebody else get a word in edgewise. Or even lengthwise.

Highlight: 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

Highlight: 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

Raquelle:
Highlight: Calling dances and BOSSING TEH VORLD!!!

Heather: Waitwaitwait, that's MY JOB. But you can help. :iz magnanimous:

Raquelle: :ignores Heather:

Highlight: Did I mention my deliciously foofy dress?

Lowlight: Losing my balance and stepping backward on my deliciously foofy dress and tearing a big dangling gash in the netting layers. :sigh:

Highlight: 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.

Highlight: Emily and I ate some MORE chocolate.

Highlight: My makeshift fix worked beautifully and the tear didn't show.

Highlight: I whisked back into the dance hall and caught most of the Reel with Nate F.

Highlight: HSAers are cool. Thanks to all of you who graciously danced with the trio of "younger sister" Ferrar girls.

Lowlight: The last dance. *sniff*

Highlight: Hanging around jabbering forever and a day.

Lowlight: Going back to the dorm, trying to get organized in my MESS. Hey, that's how this day started....

Lowlight: I had KP the next morning, which would cut into packing time.

Lowlight: 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.

Heather: 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.

End of day: Crashed into bed at 2 a.m.



Stay tuned for Wednesday...........maybe.