Archive: April 2007

During yesterday’s ride home from Virginia, JG and I both made the mistake of wearing shorts and long-sleeved t-shirts. We were prepared for the possibility of sitting in traffic, broiling in the sun, like we did on the way down. We were not prepared, however, for the cloudy, rain-spattering skies above us and a brisk breeze to boot. After a quick and yummy lunch at Chipotle (woo!), I broke into my suitcase so I could exchange my shorts and flip-flops for jeans and flats. A chilly house and quasi-freezing temperatures outside greeted us upon arrival. Welcome home, indeed. I pride myself on being of hearty New England stock, that mid-Atlantic winters are a mere shadow of what I’m accustomed to, but making the transition from basking in the sunlight to curling up with blankets would be rough for even the most hardened of us.

Coming home from any time away from home is always difficult for me. I am slow to unpack, do laundry, and reconstruct the debris that comes with traveling. Because we did our best to clean out the fridge prior to departure, JG and I had to make a grocery run so that we’d have meals for the next few days. It’s interesting and a little sobering how quickly I grew accustomed to a continental breakfast and two meals out everyday. What, we have to cook now? And do dishes? Boo, hiss.

When life hands out cold grayness and a relatively ordinary existence, I have a few strategies to make myself feel better. I exercised one of them and picked up a handful of springtime at the supermarket floral department today. On another level, JG is helping me to accept the winter cold by making homemade macaroni and cheese! The aroma wafting over from the kitchen is fabulous and we will have exactly the right dinner to accompany new episodes of The Office and CSI tonight.

This vacation “routine” of sleeping in, catching meals as I can, watching Barefoot Contessa, and reading as much as I can makes me selfishly yearn for some sort of quarter-life retirement. Oh, to have a life of leisure.

Williamsburg, Virginia, Day 4: (retrospectively)
JG and I finished up our trip to Williamsburg with a relaxing day of vacation-y activities: sleeping in, shopping, and playing mini-golf. We expected a rather ordinary day, but we got a healthy dose of Williamsburg oddity, instead.

In our hotel’s “Welcome to Williamsburg” packet, I saw a bright ad for a place called Williamsburg Pottery. I thought it might be fun to wander around and buy a new dish to take home as a souvenir, and maybe we could even see them making the pottery. I don’t think I can accurately capture the peculiarity we encountered there. We drove up to a collection of steel warehouses that housed a random assortment of chintzy stores like Totes/Sunglass World, Stained Glass and Collectibles, and something called African Gallery. Since I was on the prowl for actual pottery – imagine that! – JG and I wandered to a larger building that appeared to be the main event. Picture the many aisles of Ikea crossed with bizarre goods from Big Lots in massive quantities, separated into departments like “Oriental” and “Kitchen Gadgets.” This main building (which went on for miles) was slammed up against the largest garden supply store this side of the Mississippi with a collection of statuary to match. Next door, another steel building was labeled, “Hardware, Wine, and Cheese.” With every new step that did not reveal a large pottery-manufacturing site, I wondered if I would be A Total Tourist by asking, “Could you point me in the direction of the pottery?” But seriously! The place is called Williamsburg Pottery, for goodness’ sake. JG now wonders if the site used to be the home of pottery production but has now been accosted by these strange stores in the warehouses. Whatever the case, words can not express the weirdness.

After a cute lunch and some outlet shopping, JG and I set out for a round of mini-golf. We followed our usual routine:

• I accept the fact that I will lose and choose a golf ball that matches what I’m wearing that day.
• JG makes sure I have a putter that’s small enough for me; in this case, it was a child’s large size.
• I remember that I have no sense of aim or speed.
• JG, ever the teacher, tries to give me a few tips to “make it a lot easier.”
• I cheerfully refuse the tips because the frustration of trying to improve my nonexistent game will take away from my enjoyment of how many times I can chase the ball past the hole.
• JG putts cleanly, with maybe one occasion of 3 shots or more.
• I celebrate anything at par, but spend my time mostly craning my body to will the ball to curve left or right, because, you know, that totally helps.
• JG wins by a landslide and all is right with the world.

This time, the mini-golf routine was upset by a few rounds of turtle-watching because our mini-golf course doubled as a turtle rescue center. Seriously. They had signs all over the place about their mission, how the turtles gave joy to their patrons, and NOT to feed them, because so many guests smuggle in turtle food, I guess. Additionally, the waterfalls and little ponds in the course were all dyed a bizarrely unnatural shade of turquoise. Isn’t that kind of bad for living things?

At the end of the day, JG and I agreed that even though we couldn’t have predicted what we experienced, it was fun to get a glimpse into the strangeness in Williamsburg. It’s not just colonial history, folks.

Williamsburg, Virginia, Day 3:
We had amazing weather yesterday for walking through Colonial Williamsburg: 60 degrees, partly cloudy, with a slight breeze. I slung my camera over my shoulder and prepared for a good old educational experience. The trouble is, when you buy a ticket, it’s hard to know what you’re getting. Williamsburg is still a city; the whole thing is not officially “colonial.” So, if we hadn’t bought a ticket, we could have walked around, visited the shops, and had lunch with no problem, but there would have been no tour of the governor’s palace or visits to various tradesmen. In that light, I’m glad we bought tickets for all of the exhibits, but I’m not sure it was worth what we paid. I do think that all of the “character interpreters” we met were incredibly knowledgeable and friendly, so the entire experience was very pleasant and informative. I snapped far too many pictures of flowers and farm animals, but JG and I had a good time being outdoors and stopping in to the little stores. All told, we probably walked about five miles, which is five more than a usual day in my life. I felt like I got some exercise and learned a thing or two, and at the end of the day, JG even commented, “I wasn’t sure if I’d like that, but it turned out to be really fun. Good idea, kid.” Aw.

We spent most of today at Busch Gardens, which was a lot of fun. Unfortunately, the day started with insanely inefficient processes for parking and ticketing and I got a bad impression from it all. During the worst of it, JG and I were trying to redeem our pre-paid, turnstile-ready tickets that we had printed at home. The ticket readers were machines that were supposed to scan a bar code, take your fingerprint, and let you through. Evidently, they needed a person to assist with the bar codes and fingerprints, which totally defeated the purpose of the automation. When my bar code didn’t scan, the woman at my station punched in a 16-number code, very slowly, after she said, “See, the printer makes the bars too close together. Looks like you need a new printer.” I really wanted to fire back with, “No, my printer is fine. If the ticket prints out incorrectly, it’s the fault of the system and any convenience I thought I had was totally shot by your inefficiency and incompetence.” Instead, because I knew it wasn’t only her fault, I chose to stare daggers at her. I was good and worked up after that, but JG got me walking at a trot – each of his steps is about 2.5 of mine – and my mood burned off quickly when we rode a giant coaster twice in a row with virtually no wait. Woo! Going to an amusement park is one of my favorite things to do with JG because we’re both so focused on a strategic route that will result in minimum wait time. It sounds super-structured, but we have so much fun once we actually get to the rides. Going roller coasters for five hours is such a departure from my workday and I really felt like I was on vacation when we were there. It was very nice.

Oog. I’m typing under the influence of an incredibly filling meal from Pierce’s Pitt, a Williamsburg fixture where you order and pay at the register and then pick up your food when your number is called over a tinny intercom. We had plenty of time to pick our poison since we were in line behind a group of teens from a Baptist church in Ohio who arrived, just before we did, in one of those truncated school buses. JG and I both decided on the Barbecue Dinner, which consists of a half-pound of pulled-pork barbecue and a choice of three (!) sides. We both chose fries and mac-n-cheese, but JG went all-carb with the addition of hushpuppies and I chose collard greens, you know, for a balanced diet. Well, our friends weren’t kidding when they billed Pierce’s as “old-school, cheap, and a ton of food.” Oh, my goodness. The barbecue was comforting, stick-to-your-ribs, and full-flavored with just a tiny kick at the end. The meat seemed to expand in our stomachs alongside the side dishes that complemented the sweet-sour tang of the sauce. It was one of those meals that made me sorry that it would be over at some point, but no matter how much I liked it, there was no way I could have finished it all. JG cleaned his plate, but he practically rolled himself to the car and then collapsed as soon as he got back. I did my best, but I was only able to eat all of the barbecue and the mac-n-cheese. It’s about prioritizing, right? That said, I wish I had already brushed my teeth before I started to type because, man, standing up is going to be rough.