July started in June, when I volunteered to chaperone Julian's class to the Tregembo Game Park (formerly the "Tote-em-in Zoo," so named for the genuine Native American totem pole on display as well as the idea you could bring your children there. See, it's a pun.) Abby wasn't feeling well enough to attend day camp, so instead she stood around in 95-degree heat feeding goats corn kernels with her brother. If you haven't been to Tregembo, you're missing a piece of Americana that is rapidly disappearing, at least if PETA has any say in the matter.
There are so many more photos, but we have a lot of ground to cover. You'll have to visit yourself if you want to see a black bear in a very small iron cage or a scrawny lion pacing its fetid concrete enclosure.
We got home a little early, so we had free time. Julian came out costumed as below. When asked why he could only say, "I'm a bad guy." That explains the hobby horse, the cowboy hat, and the sword, sure, but what about the light-up boots? I used the time to practice a new game Jeff Weaver made up, Ripstick Basketball. The last one to end up in the ER wins.
Rarely we enjoy an aimless weekend. Below, Sellers shows off his catch from the community pond. If you look very closely, you can see the Salmonella.
This next picture is just to prove we really can grow a tomato:
Sometimes when you're having an aimless weekend friends provide you with aim. In this case Nancy Cunningham and Bill Hession called us up out of the blue to enjoy lamb-burgers and drink wine on their balcony overlooking the intracoastal. Julian has learned all about rainbows in school, and he finally got to see one. We had a tough time explaining why he couldn't ride it.
It seems every year we arrive at July 4th with no plans, just hoping our friends will bail us out. This year was no exception, and since I was on call planning seemed even more futile. But it wasn't a bad day in the hospital, and who should bail us out but Karen Vogel (Josh was also on call)? Not only did she bring us to the Pine Valley pool, but she grabbed dinner from the club for all of us. At dark we cruised down to the marina, where fireworks were going off every direction we could look. It was spectacular, mesmerizing, and it bored the kids to tears. But we forced them to watch; we're making memories here, damnit!
Since I was on call for the 4th, I also worked Saturday the 5th. Sadly, I missed the weekly mucking out of the chicken coop. But I did get home in time to accept our neighbors the Knowles's invitation to come over to their pool. At this point, I'm considering cancelling our Wilmington Athletic Club membership and just sitting in the front lawn looking forlorn and overheated.
Sellers shows Julian how to make a sling shot. This probably is not a good thing.
The Vogels then invited us over for an impromptu dinner. I'm sure we've done something for them recently, sometime, once.
Getting to the Vogels any way we can.
The next week was consumed with preparations for Abby's first sleep-away camp, a week at the National Young Scholars Program at Wake Forest University in Winston Salem. Complicating matters, this was also Margaret's last week in her old office before she had to clear out. I sprung into action Thursday, acquiring Abby the recommended cell phone and camera. How does Abby like having her own cell phone? Let's just say if she hasn't called you yet, she will. If she gets to year's end without a brain tumor we can be pretty sure cell phones are safe. Oh, and what happens when you give Abby her own camera? This:
Saturday came and, with the contents of Margaret's office piled high in our living room, our girls took off for camp. Here Margaret surveys our garden before pulling out.
Yes, there were tears. But by the time Abby phoned in that night it was clear not only would she be okay, she would not bathe for a week.
Margaret decided to spend the night in Winston Salem, so we boys were on our own. We decided to take our minds off Mommy's absence by going to a movie. I loved WALL-E. Sellers gave it a three out of five, but only because he's never seen 2001. Julian loved it, although he slept in my lap for the last 2/3 of the movie. After that I took the boys to a new restaurant for our favorite meal, SUSH-E.
By 2:30 on Sunday, we had Mommy home, and all was right with the world, except the erie silence left by Abby's absence, a silence broken by the periodic ring of our cell phones.
Abby uses the time she might have been showering to snap a photo of her suitemates.
Margaret dedicated the entirety of the following week to getting her new office functional. She impressed the electricians, flooring guys, and plumbers with her commitment to injuring herself in the name of mounting all her own hardware. For the week total she got about 12 hours' sleep, explaining why by Friday Margaret was talking to the flying monkeys (she says they're surprisingly friendly).
Sellers and Julian fashion a Mach 6 (Speed Racer) from the plethora of boxes in Margaret's new office.
Thursday July 17th was a banner day for everyone. For me it was time for my colonoscopy, a procedure I've been dreading ever since I learned it existed. At least our friend and neighbor Steve Klein was driving the scope. He has sworn to tell no one what I said while sedated, not even me. He did supply me with some lovely photos, but like I said we have so much to cover...
Also Diane picked up Abby at camp, sitting through the final presentation and meeting all her friends. In a short four hours, we were all reunited, and the cell phone was back in its charger.
Abby shows off her work analyzing pollutants in pond water.
Abby receives her certificate from her counselor Mr. James, a self-admitted leprechaun.
Abby says goodbye to her roommate and new best friend, Hope.
Even with the colonscopy behind us, there were even bigger things in store for the week. Because Friday, July 18th, exactly ten years to the day from our wedding, Margaret and I departed for New Orleans, a Christmas gift from her father and Diane. Part of the gift, of course, was that they would come play with the kids while we were gone.
Margaret stops in the Charlotte airport to check the tire pressure on Jeff Gordon's car.
Exhausted, Margaret arrives at the Hotel Maison De Ville, where we stayed 11 years ago when I proposed.
I stand inspired by the building's original owner, naturalist John James Audobon.
Margaret in the courtyard outside our cottage. She's wearing my blazer because when it's only 90 degrees outside she catches a little chill.
Starting to look relaxed, enjoying champagne and crab cakes courtesy of Mom and Dad Hill.
We leave for dinner and see this guy. Yep, we're back in New Orleans!
After a pleasant trip (who knew you could get through an airport without carrying a single child?) we took a taxi to the French Quarter and checked in at the Hotel Maison De Ville where, eleven years ago, I brought Margaret to propose. We relaxed by the pool and chatted with a local gentleman and his visitors from New Jersey, only one of whom was swimming naked when we left for dinner. We then grabbed A Streetcar Named St. Charles and rode up through the Garden District to Brigtsen's, the very restaurant where I spread out a napkin and went down on my knee to ask Margaret's hand in marriage. It's still there, along with Marny, the hostess who made sure the ring came out on cue.
Of course while we were canoodling, Diane was handling three kids on her own. They started at the pool, where Julian "saved" her multiple times by jumping into her arms. From there they went to the airport to pick up Francis, who was a little late on account of reporting to Washington Dulles instead of Baltimore Washington International, where his flight had long since departed (Hey, if it can happen to this guy...). It was when the minivan stalled in the Passenger Pick Up lane Diane realized we had left her with about 1/4 gallon of gas. Uh, sorry?
So Francis grabbed a taxi and set out for the nearest gas station, where they didn't sell gas cans but did have a customer with a beat-up old Lincoln full of spare gas cans who told Francis to just take one. For the record, it's this kind of dumb luck that got the human genome sequenced.
The next day Francis and Diane took the children to the Fort Fisher Aquarium and back to the pool while Margaret and I wandered the Crescent City.
This was followed by the sort of entertainment only Diane can cook up, a private re-enactment of Project Runway in our family room.
Saturday was our one full day in New Orleans, so we had to make the most of it. We got a slightly late start since Margaret was comatose for about 12 hours. But we'd been away for eleven years, and there was a lot of time to make up.
This "cop" cited me for crossing the street with a woman prettier than myself and in return for a $10 contribution to Meals On Wheels plastered us with stickers and even gave me a souvenir hat. He suggested we not remove our novelty stickers so the other ten "cops" wouldn't stop us again.
Number one on the Stations of the Crescent City.
We ducked into Pere Antoine for crawfish just as it started to rain. You can see Margaret's novelty sticker. This one got lots of attention.
Later at the Cafe Du Monde, Station Number 2.
Margaret was intrigued by the cemetary and ghost tours advertised around town, so this time we did something we'd never done before, slap new stickers on our shirts and trail around after "Scary Mary," actually a retired schoolteacher who used a variety of hauntings to illustrate the history of the French Quarter.
Jackson Square (Station Number Three) as seen from the Ghost Tour.
While staring as hard as we could at this roofline to see the fluttering nightgown of the Quadroon Mistress, we overheard a couple of girls walking toward us saying, "Wasn't he in National Treasure?" Recalling what Scary Mary had told us about the famous celebrities who lived in the French Quarter I whipped out my camera just in time to get this spectacular shot of the back of Nicholas Cage's head! You'll just have to trust me, it's really him.
After our tour we repaired to Emeril Lagasse's NOLA where, despite all the "Bam's" and "Kick it up a notch's" we rediscovered why Emeril heads up a culinary empire. I'm not much for collard greens, but serving as a bed for paneed duck livers over mustard sauce, they're quite tasty.
I may not come back for another eleven years, so I'm going to enjoy this.
Sunday we concentrated on getting souvenirs. A balloon clown by Jackson Square took us for suckers, and it turns out he was right. Every time I've passed the Cafe Beignet I've wondered who goes there when the Cafe Du Monde is just across the street. Now I know: people with a plane to catch who don't have time to wait behind 50 other people on Sunday morning.
Sadly, we did have to get to the airport. There I found a couple of books to read and Margaret resumed working on charts as soon as she got to an internet connection.
In the airport bookstore Margaret identifies the book that paid for our trip. Thanks again, y'all!
Of course we were happy to get home and see the kids again. And it's always fun to hand out souvenirs.
Has more happened? Sure. But that's about all one blog will hold. Have a great week, and laissez les bon tons rouler.
No comments:
Post a Comment