All posts by Rivergirl

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Day 12…. otherwise known as Christmas.

 

So we got up bright and early to make the almost 5 hour drive down to North Carolina.

 

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                                                         Required Christmas selfie.

 

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And as we were walking down the sidewalk of our resort it struck me…..

 

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I might not be the only one who cursed my husband’s choice of the behemoth rental car.

It was an uneventful trip.

 

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But we saw lots of cotton.

 

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Really, a whole lot of cotton.

 

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And absolutely nothing else. Nothing for miles and miles… except cotton… and I was starting to sweat the steadily dropping level of gasoline.

Behemoths be thirsty.

I also took issue with Apple maps when the GPS put us in the middle of a National Forest and told us to turn around.

 

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WTF?

When the rental beast was pretty much running on fumes, we finally found a service station to fill it…. and us, since we skipped breakfast. The only choice was Subway, where I ordered a rotisserie chicken wrap and managed to leak half of the sauce on my blouse resulting in a large greasy stain.

My first words upon arrival in N.C. weren’t “Merry Christmas!”  but….. “Let me raid your closet.”

 

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My second words were “What you would like to drink?”  as I unpacked my carton of holiday cheer.

Destiny chose a bottle to match her sweater, because coordination is everything.

 

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We gave them our gifts…. and Gracie liked the books.

 

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Though I think she liked the pig a little bit more.

 

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We spent time with our daughter of the heart’s step children, John being home on leave from the Army.

 

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As you can see they aren’t young enough to be hers…. because like me, she married an older man. Which her mother thinks I’m responsible for and never lets me forget, but hey.

It worked for me.

 

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An old Marine Corps buddy of the husband’s came with us….  and it was a laid back country Christmas with lots of love and laughter.

A few highlights:

 

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My bartending skills were highly rated.

 

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And strange toys were questioned.

Does a llama really need to shake her booty?

But more importantly, why was this horror voted toy of the year in Australia?

Watch  the bizarre commercial that looks like a Saturday Night Live skit  and decide for yourself.

 

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Numerous pictures were taken.

 

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Some with prominently placed bows. (These may have been alcohol induced)

 

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Rick posed with his namesake shirt.

 

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Dogs with serious underbites begged for treats from a wonderful brown sugar glazed  ham dinner I completely devoured and forgot to photograph.

Sorry Martin.

Blame the carton of alcohol, not me.

 

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Animated discussions of politics took place….. (Which might also have been alcohol induced)

 

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But my husband smiled wider and laughed more than he has in a while, and that made my heart full.

 

Then before we were ready, it was time to say goodbye.

Hugs and tears….

 

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And we were back on the road.

For the longest almost 5 hour trip ever.

 

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The only bright spot?

 

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This house…

 

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That gave new meaning to the term holiday decorating.

 

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Truly an extravaganza.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I love my town…. Part 6.

 

Time for an update on the stories making the news on my town’s Facebook page.

Traffic jams are awful, no two ways about it…..

But in my town?

 

 

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They’re not always bumper to bumper.

 

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And then there was this:

 

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No, damn it! I did not.

We’ve lived here over 17 years and the only moose I’ve seen was a dead one on I-95.

Trotting right down Main Street?

 

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Another missed opportunity.

And finally, there was this:

 

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My first thought was the zombie fish apocalypse had begun… and I started to get a little nervous.

But it turns out a bald eagle was fishing the river, dropped his sturgeon while flying and decided to munch on it in situ.

 

 

Because the thought of zombie fish taking over my blog?

Not cool.

 

Yorktown waterfront…. a pub, good food, some feral cats and a view.

 

In case you haven’t already guessed, there was not a single wine filter gift to be had in the entire state of Virginia…. so the only thing left to do was drown my sorrows at the Yorktown Pub.

 

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This unassuming little place got great reviews and had been recommended to us by numerous people so we gave it a try.

 

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While it’s definitely a no frills local hangout….

 

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The riverfront views were lovely.

 

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The feral cats were friendly….

 

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Plentiful, and well fed by the bar owners and staff.

 

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And while the cocktail list was basic?

 

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The drinks were tasty, potent and cheap.

 

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What more can a girl ask?

 

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Good food.

The husband’s weird combination of chicken fingers and mixed veggies looked odd but he was happy with it…. and my fried shrimp were quite honestly the best I’ve had in years. Fresh, juicy, and perfectly cooked with a light crisp batter. Add homemade tartar sauce, some marvelous fries and another cocktail?

 

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And River was a happy camper.

 

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Long live beer diversity!

 

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And cheap meals.

 

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Since the sun was setting…

 

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We took a stroll along the water.

 

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Hand in hand…

 

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Enjoying the scenery…

 

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And the non traditional ways we choose to spend the holidays.

 

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Different places.

 

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Different sights.

 

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Different sounds.

 

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Different experiences.

 

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And never a dull moment.

Random ridiculousness.

 

I live in Maine.

We have terrible roads due to the high water content underneath and a never ending cycle of freezing and melting.

Frost heave is a separate season here….

 

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And the potholes can be large enough to swallow your car.

So this made me chuckle the other day….

 

 

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Mainers.

We’re an odd bunch.

 

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With funny license plates.

I also ran across a strange product:

 

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Are slipping nerd glasses really that much of a problem?

 

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Apparently it is.

 

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Day 11….love notes, breakfast, a liquor store and last minute Christmas shopping in Colonial Williamsburg.

 

The eleventh day of our vacation started at our timeshare resort condo…

 

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Where I found this:

 

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A note from the grandchild of our hearts.

Sorry… but there’s no way better way to start the day than that.

 

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Although biscuits and gravy with home fries comes close.

We had a full day of Christmas gift shopping ahead of us and needed hearty sustenance. And in the south?

 

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That includes the options of scrapple, fried catfish, grits or bologna and eggs.

The husband’s utterly favorite breakfast is chipped beef on toast and he rarely finds it in Maine… so when we stumbled on the Southern Pancake and Waffle House in Williamsburg?

 

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He wanted to go every morning…. which we pretty much did from then on.

 

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But hey, there were chickens in every window so how could we lose?

Our first stop that day was a liquor store in anticipation of our upcoming Christmas Day in North Carolina.

For future reference…. the first way to tell you’re in a liquor store in the south?

 

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There’s a still.

 

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Still searching for that silly wine filter, I thought we could try Merchant’s Square…. which is the shopping section of Colonial Williamsburg I couldn’t get the husband to check out the previous week.

 

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As with all areas there, it was lovely.

 

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Filled with interesting high end shops… like this interior design place.

 

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Giant double diamond ring light fixture anyone…?

 

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We happily strolled aroiund, ducking in and out of the stores with all the other desperate  Holy crap it’s Christmas Eve and I don’t have a gift!   shoppers.

Naturally I had to buy a souvenir tee shirt –

 

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Truer words were ne’er spoke.

 

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And towards late afternoon when my stomach started grumbling?

This happened.

 

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Someone saw the husband’s Marine Corps hat, said Semper Fi, and they were off….

 

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On a 38 minute long conversation about who was stationed where, when and with whom.

Yes. I timed it….

 

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While he talked?

 

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I walked.

 

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Agreed wholeheartedly with a sign.

 

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And explored a little more…

 

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Of the colonial town.

 

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And hey, if you’re going to dress up in period costume and stand on the sidewalk?

 

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Don’t give me the stink eye when I take your picture.

Turning back around hoping the other half had finished talking…

 

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I saw snow.

 

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Granted it wasn’t very much, but it surprised me to see any at all.

 

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The ice skating rink surprised me as well.

 

 

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In Maine we wait for ponds to freeze over.

 

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In Virginia they just build one… and how they keep it frozen in 60 degree temperatures is a mystery to me.

 

 

A little drip now and then….

 

Leaking roof saga continued.

Winter is the worst possible time in Maine for your roof to spring a leak … so of course, that’s exactly what’s happened.

Remember when I said I’d cringe every time it rains?

 

 

That’s the sound of me cringing.

It poured the other day… and so did our ceiling.

 

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So much so I had to add another pan.

Which drove the husband nuts when he came home…. and because he’s a man and had to do something?

 

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Yeah. He decided to climb up into the attic to see where it was leaking.

Naturally this isn’t as easy as climbing a set of stairs… because no.

Here at Casa River, we like a challenge.

 

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The den closet, home to an overflow of the husband’s useless crap  treasure.

(Yes, he collects old wooden hangers. Don’t you?)

 

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Half of one side had to be emptied and strewn all over the room….

 

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Because the only way to access the crawl space we call an attic is to remove all the shelving and climb up a hole at the top of the closet.

 

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A design paradigm we curse the builders for quite often.

 

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It’s a bit of a nightmare getting up there.

 

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And no, the husband didn’t appreciate me making a Kodak moment out of the experience.

 

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He wasn’t thrilled that I stuck my head up through the hole to offer advice either.

Men. There’s no pleasing you.

 

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But look… I found an antenna from the 1970’s!

 

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Did I mention there’s no actual floor up there? Just a few scattered pieces of particle board that break when you kneel on them.

 

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So after scuttling around like a crab and lying on his back…

 

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And pointing his flashlight near the section of the roof of the addition you can’t access from the crawl space, he did find where the water was coming in. Halfway up the peak, and running down the beams…. which we can find absolutely no reason for.

 

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Doesn’t this look like fun?

 

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Especially since there’s not a damned thing you can do about it until spring when you can rip off the shingles to find the bad spot.

 

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Meanwhile I’ll have this lovely and ever expanding wart to look at.

And every time I do?

I hear a cash register.

Ka-ching!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tail end of the Yorktown driving tour, some fluffy butts, an elusive Christmas gift…. and late night food.

 

The driving tour of the Yorktown, Virginia battlefield was a strange one and meandered all over the place.

 

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Through the woods.

 

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And past open fields with miles of split rail fencing.

Seriously, it went on forever.

 

 

 

There were creeks and swamps.

 

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And every now and then, a sign.

 

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We saw plenty of fluffy white butts.

 

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And they roamed at will.

 

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We even made friends with a few.

 

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This little beauty had no fear and sidled right up next to my window.

 

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Up our way that would be dangerous.

But this was protected land and they knew it.

 

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Near the end of the tour we saw something a bit odd.

 

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A buck with a funky horn.

 

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And while I can’t say I’ve ever had to tote a rack around  (on my head anyway)  this did look a little strange.

 

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So this was December 23rd and the husband had spent the last 48 hours trying to talk me into driving down to North Carolina for Christmas Day. When we’re on a trip for the holidays? We usually let it pass without much fanfare. No exchange of gifts, maybe just a special meal. But since our daughter of the heart came to visit with us those few days… he was bound and determined we would celebrate with her this time.

While I normally would have agreed, she had a slew of family members staying the night in a one bathroom house and I didn’t want to stress her anymore than necessary. We checked a few hotels in the area but all of them were full. Husband wanted to go for the day…. but it was a 4+ hour ride down and a 4+ hour ride back. Almost 9 hours on the road is not my idea of a fun Christmas… but he wore me down. Which meant we had to spend the rest of that day (and night) shopping for gifts because I wouldn’t go empty handed.

And leave it to me to decide on the one gift that was utterly unfindable on the 23rd of December. And believe me we tried.

Yup.

I had to give her this.

 

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Because she loves wine…. but can no longer drink it because it gives her headaches.

I was going to give her the gift of wine back! Or die trying.

Which we nearly did.

We tried every single freakin’ store for 150 miles. Large malls and small gift shops. Specialty stores and wine outlets. Big chains and obscure holes in the hall. We walked, we searched, we cursed.  (Okay, maybe that was just me.)  We shopped until we almost dropped. Everyone had heard of it… very few carried it. And if they did carry it? They were sold out by the time we got there.

Do you know how aggravating it is to look for something for 7 hours straight and then be told by a laughing salesclerk, “Oh, we just sold the last one 10 minutes ago. You should have been quicker.”  That woman is lucky she still has her tongue…. because if I could have reached the butcher knife on the other side of the counter? She’d be laughing with a bloody stump right now.

And if that isn’t bad enough?

I didn’t find the perfect gift, but I did find this:

 

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No.

No

Noooo!

This is wrong on so many levels … I can’t even. What twisted soul thought, “How can I take a perfectly good candy and ruin it beyond all measure? I know… I’ll add Kale!”

All over the world children are weeping. I hope you’re satisfied Archie.

At 9:30 that night the husband was screaming Uncle…. and grumbling about food. We were both too exhausted to care at that point and stopped at the first place on the way back to the resort. An Outback Steakhouse.

I’m not a lover of chain restaurants and hadn’t been to one of these in 20 years.

 

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But $5 Boozy Cherry Limeades sounded pretty good….

And for that price? I had 3.

 

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Their Blue Cheese Wedge salad left a lot to be desired…. and the husband’s French Onion soup was only fair.

 

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But his filet was blood rare and he made short work of it.

 

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My grilled filet and shrimp skewer combo was filling…. and I’ll leave it at that.

There’s a reason we’re not chain restaurant fans, and if we don’t go back for another 20 years?

I’m okay with that.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Yorktown National Cemetery

 

The next stop on the driving tour was a solemn one.

 

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Where I found it a sad statement on today’s society that this sign even needed to be posted.

 

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Silence and respect is the very least we can give them.

 

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I’ve always found cemeteries to be beautiful places.

 

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And never fail to become emotional…. constantly close to tears.

 

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It doesn’t matter that none of my people were here…..

 

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They’re someone’s people.

 

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Someone’s son, husband or father.

 

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And they made the ultimate sacrifice for a country we all share.

 

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Cemeteries are a perfect place for personal reflection.

 

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And I made sure to give my veteran husband some time alone with memories of his war… and those he lost.

 

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I have to admit I was ignorant of the tradition of coin laying. You don’t see this up our way, but almost every grave had coins on it in Yorktown.

 

According to legend, the coin left belongs on the gravestones of U.S. military veterans. Visitors who wish to show their respect leave coins on the headstones in different amounts. It shows their loved ones of the soldiers family that someone has come to visit the grave.

Leaving a penny means you visited and want to thank the veteran for their service. A nickel means you trained at boot camp with the deceased, while a dime suggests you served with him or her. Finally, a quarter signifies you were with the soldier when they passed away.

The origin of the tradition, like the meaning behind it, is still up for debate. But many people believe it started in America during the Vietnam War. America was having a crisis of conscience. Any discussion of the war usually devolved into a more significant discussion about politics. Leaving a coin was a way to say you appreciate the soldier’s service while avoiding an inevitable uncomfortable conversation.

 

I really wish I’d known this before our visit.

I would have broken my piggy bank and put a penny on each and every one.

 

Let’s Chat!

 

So a blog friend of mine has time warped me back into the ’90’s.

 

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No, not that far.

Although the hair is close….

He’s started an old fashioned chat room and we’ve been playing around with it for the past few days.

 

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Damn.

Now that I think about it… he does have a Golden.

But if you have a minute and want some less than stimulating conversation, drop by and say hello!

Arionis’s time warp.

Yorktown National Park mini museum and a whole lotta humps.

 

We were beginning to discover a strange thing about the Historic Triangle area in Williamsburg ,Virginia…. everything is done in triplicate. National Parks, State Parks and tourist venues all cover the same history and it can be a bit confusing when choosing a place to visit. So after finishing the Revolutionary War Museum and the Yorktown re-creation, we headed to the actual Yorktown site and found a National Parks visitors center.

It had a small museum with most of the same information we had just seen… and a broken heating system which rendered the building slightly less cold than the Arctic tundra. Needless to say, we didn’t linger.

There was a ship.

 

 

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A one fourth size replica of the one that sunk in the neighboring York River.

 

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So we boarded her…

 

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Explored… and then moved on.

 

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To some tents.

 

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But not just any old tents.

 

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These were literally George Washington’s tents.

Delivered by Philadelphia upholsterer Plunket Fleeson in May 1776, Washington’s original set of campaign tents included a large dining tent — which also served as his headquarters and meeting room — and two additional tents that provided space for the general to sleep and store his baggage.

Though made of rugged worsted wool and linen, several of these tents succumbed to rough treatment during the war, requiring Washington to order replacements. Still more abuse took place after the deaths of the general and his wife, when their stepson — George Washington Parke Custis — began snipping off pieces of the historic fabric to give to guests at his celebrated outdoor parties.

Later, the tents accompanied the Marquis de Lafayette on his triumphant 1824 tour of the nation he helped create. Yet even at historic Fort McHenry, where they were reverently displayed under the original Star-Spangled Banner, the increasing fragile artifacts were handled with a recklessness that’s hard for curators to imagine today.

Greater still was the threat from Union Army pillagers who seized the Arlington estate of Custis’ heir — Mary Custis Lee — and her husband, Confederate Gen. Robert E. Lee, during the Civil War. Only a word of warning from a Lee family slave named Selina Gray persuaded federal officials to seize them for safekeeping, thus saving the irreplaceable relics.

Returned in 1901, the outer elements of both the dining and sleeping tents were quickly sold; they ended up in the collections of the Smithsonian Institution and what is now the American Revolution Center at Valley Forge, Sundberg said. The Park Service acquired the dining tent ceiling and sleeping tent chamber from the Lee family in 1955, putting both on display at what was then the new Yorktown Visitor Center.

 

 

And pardon my geekdom, but I think that’s pretty damned cool!

 

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Heck, they even had Lord Cornwallis’s table he used during the war.

But by that time we were freezing and had to go outside to warm up. Wanting to see the actual Yorktown battlefield…. we started the driving tour with directions from the park rangers.

 

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I’m not quite sure what I was expecting.

 

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But what I got were a bunch of humps.

Humps here.

 

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Humps there.

 

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Humps everywhere.

 

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Apparently they’re called redoubts.

 

 

And not be outdone, we had humps as well.

 

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I believe there were 10 of them on the tour, but come on. Once you’ve seen a  few humps?

You’ve seen them all.

 

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Though this one had cannons, which I photographed from the top of  a hump……

 

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Before realizing you weren’t supposed to climb to the top of the humps.

 

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