Summer Trip '08, Part VI: Scenes from a Conference

Part I
Part II
Part III
Part IV
Part V
**********
Ridiculously, I'm still planning to finish recounting this trip. I have to, you see. Since I started this blog, I don't keep journals as well as I used to (I used to fill warehouses with my journals) and so I. Must. Blog. It.

We last left a dear old man in a souvenir shop. Bonnets and broken shot glass in hand, we headed to our van and began the long, winding trip from Gettysburg to Lancaster. We didn't realize it would be quite so long and quite so winding. Pennsylvania is lovely traveling indeed. But, it's also long and winding. Everything was looooong and
w
i n
d
in
g

and took longer than we thought it would. Still, we arrived at our hotel in Lancaster by about 4 or 4:30, and I thought we'd be able to zip over to the Family Centered Picnic and still have plenty of time to meet, greet and socialize.

Well, that was in my dreams.

My reality involved things such as:

*forgetting that I needed to stop and buy food to take to the potluck
*kicking myself for not getting proper directions to the park
*getting lost three times
*stopping twice for directions to the park
*finally arriving at the park at 7 pm only to see a van pulling away as Atticus said, "That van has New York plates ... do you think that could be the Gunthers?"

My children let out a variety of groans, as they were quite eager to meet their longtime penpals.

There were, however, loads of people I was eager to meet, and the first among them was our gracious hostess, the amazing Michele Quigley, who came running to greet me, making me feel like a welcome guest and a dear, old friend at the same time. Michele, who runs Family- Centered Press (and wasn't I blessed to win one of her terrific planners in a drawing at the conference?) not only planned and pulled off this conference, but the very next weekend, her son got married. I am a sad, pale imitation of a multitasker compared to this woman.

I was also blessed to meet (some at the picnic that night, some the next day at the conference) : Margaret of Minnesota Mom, Meredith of Sweetness and Light, Diane of Journey of a Mother's Heart, Kimberlee of Pondered in My Heart, Mary Ellen Barrett from Tales from the Bonny Blue House, Margot Davidson of Hillside Education, Michelle of Rosetta Stone, Heather from Doodle Acres, Michelle of Living Waters, and wonderful (non-blogging) friends Erica and Irene. Irene's daughters and mine have been penpals for some time, too, and my girls had a fabulous time Saturday, spending time with Atticus, both sets of penpals and a couple of other terrific dads.

This entire weekend was a joy. If Gettysburg was "Daddy's gift" then Lancaster and the time spent with these gentle, beautiful, funny, gracious, wise, generous and fascinating women was mine. I had a wonderful time, and I am so grateful that the conference (which was originally scheduled for a week later) was rescheduled for late July, or we would never have been able to make it.

On Sunday, after Mass, we left Lancaster and headed for Washington, D.C., where we all received the next gift of the trip -- a reunion with old friends. But, that's another post.

I'll leave you with a few pictures of my treasured Lancaster gifts:

Margaret, me, Meredith, Diane (picture shamelessly stolen from Heather, because I didn't take a single picture at the picnic):
















Alice, Meredith, and Kimberlee:
















Cute Baby, Erica, me, Kimberlee, Diane:












with Michele Quigley:












With Mary Ellen and Small, Extremely Cute Person:











With Alice and another small, extremely cute person:

Summer Trip 08, Part V (or, Will I Ever Finish This Account?)

Part I
Part II
Part III
Part IV

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Souvenir Shopping and Sweet Old Men

It was going to be "browsing" rather than "shopping."

We were meandering through a small shop full of the usual souvenir suspects. I was poring over postcards with Ramona when I heard an unmistakable sound. Something had broken. I glanced over and saw that it was my daughter, not someone's else errant child, who had the mortified look on her face. I rushed over.

"What happened?" I asked Anne, who had the look of a deer caught in the headlights.

"I don't know," she said, as if in shock. "I was looking at this pretty candle, and I ... dropped it, and ...." her voice trailed off as together we looked at a broken shot glass on the shelf below.

"Was it already chipped like that?" I asked her.

"I don't know ... I don't think so," she said, clearly horrified.

"Well, then, we need to go show it to the clerk and pay for it," I told her.

"I'm so sorry, Mom!" she burst out. "I didn't mean to break it!"

"I know you didn't," I told her, "but we can't just leave it here. We need to tell them."

We made our way to the cash register with the broken shot glass, a rather tacky little piece of business with "Got Ghosts?" imprinted on one side, and a picture of ghosts and the words, "Gettysburg does" on the other (we were so put off by all the tourist-y ghost stuff in Gettysburg -- such a sad trivialization of the horrors of war.)

Atticus presented it to the elderly gentleman behind the counter, and said, "My daughter accidentally broke this, and we need to pay you for it."

Misunderstanding, the sweet gentleman said, "Oh, well, go back and get one that isn't chipped!"

Atticus said, "No, I'm sorry, you've misunderstood me. We didn't plan to buy it, but we've broken it and want to pay you for it."

It took a moment for this to sink in, but then the sweet gentleman shook his head and said, "Ohhh, noooo ... we'll just pretend that we broke it. Don't you worry about it one bit. No, no, no."

I was touched. I'd been all ready to teach my daughter a lesson in consequences and she'd suddenly been excused, had become the recipient of undeserved grace. She was redeemed, her debt paid. I wanted somehow to pay the man back for this sweep of forgiveness, so I immediately turned around to hunt for something we could buy. Directly behind me were the most adorable prairie bonnets, for only $5. I had each of the girls pick one out, and also grabbed a couple of souvenir documents, too (who doesn't need another copy of the Gettysburg address, after all?) and some postcards. Mr. Sweetest Clerk in the World couldn't comprehend that we would leave the shotglass behind, and he wouldn't hear of it, so he tucked it into our bag, chipped piece and all, and said, "Maybe you can glue it together and still enjoy it."

At first I thought, "Oh, he just doesn't get it. We don't want the shotglass. We never wanted the shotglass." But in the end, he was right. I will enjoy it -- not as the kind of souvenir it was meant to be, but as a souvenir of the kindness of a gentle man in a small store in Pennsylvania during the Summer Trip of '08.

Anne was immensely relieved at the outcome of the entire incident, of course, but we did have a little talk about shopping. I informed her that she'd just learned three valuable lessons:

1. Be extra careful around the breakable stuff, even when you already think you're being very careful.
2. If that man hadn't been so kind, she'd be out $5.
3. Most people are kind, despite what you read in the paper.

After pretzels and chocolate, we headed for Lancaster, PA and the Family Centered Learning Conference ....


Got bonnets? We do.

Summer Trip '08, Part IV (or, "Atticus and Gettysburg Finally Meet")

Part I
Part II
Part III

**********
When we last parted, Ramona had just turned six and Atticus had just stepped into his dream town.

How to describe this man's love affair with the Civil War? Hmmm. "Love affair" sounds all wrong, actually, as if he's romanticized it or turned it into something flowery and sentimental. "Civil War buff" doesn't quite do, either, as it might denote too fluffy a quality to describe Atticus's immersion into history, especially into this period of history.

To say that I should be on a first name basis with Shelby Foote, based on the number of his books that reside on our shelves and make their way around the house, might begin to describe it. To say that I know Ken Burns and his documentary so well that I could recite Sullivan Ballou's letter to his wife in my sleep might give you a peek into what we watch when there's nothing else on. To say that we have books by MacPherson, Gallagher, Catton, and Shaara might drop the hint that Atticus reads everything. To say that I know Jeff Daniels played Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain in the film Gettysburg, and that I know that Chamberlain was a fascinating fellow who was a professor before the war, with no previous military experience, and to tell you that even I got goosebumps when I climbed up to Little Round Top and considered what had happened there, is a testament to Atticus's influence on me and on our family.

the view from Little Round Top

Our first day in Gettysburg, we spent hours in the Museum/Visitors Center and even the girls were fascinated by much of it. Atticus is an encyclopedia of Civil War knowledge; we didn't need a single professional tour or docent. When the girls had questions, I simply said, "Ask Daddy."

On the day we toured battlefields, Ramona's (and everyone's?) patience was beginning to wear a bit thin so I mustered the troops and delivered a morale-boosting speech that would have had Meade beaming. I explained to the kids that we would each get to have our favorite parts of this two-week road trip, and that this was Daddy's part, this meant the world to him, and this was his gift from us. After a snack, Ramona said, "Okay, Mommy. I've had enough sugar now to keep me going and be a trooper. And, I'm really trying not to use the word 'boring.'"

Atticus took advantage of the fact that tired children wanted to rest at the hotel for awhile, and he went running on the battlefield trails (he's a distance runner, and likes to go 5-8 miles at a time.) It was the fulfillment of a dream for him.

Meanwhile, back at the hotel, I was fulfilling the dream of a few more clean clothes. I took advantage of the washer and dryer down the hall from our room at the No, That Would Be Too Much Service Hotel. The washing machine ate one of my quarters, and when we told the desk clerk about it, the response was to say "Oh, really?" and turn away. Other amenities included having to ask for milk each morning at breakfast, and the loss of electrical power for several hours on our first night there.

We went to daily Mass at the beautiful St. Francis Xavier church, which was used as a makeshift hospital during the war, with the Sisters of Charity caring for wounded and dying soldiers on and around the pews. (I prayed to be charitable and kind to everyone at the No, That Would Be Too Much Service Hotel.)

And in closing tonight, I'll leave you with one of the best signs I saw while we were in Gettysburg:



Up next: Souvenir shopping with Anne, Betsy and Ramona.

I'll meet you back here tomorrow at the blog ... by appointment or chance.

Summer Trip '08, Part III

Part I
Part II

**********
On Ramona's birthday (though we'd celebrated it the week before our road trip, she actually turned six on the day after New Wave Pizza) we hit the road and found our way to Falling Water. We bought only grounds passes for the family (touring the interior of the house wasn't in the budget) but we didn't regret it. We had a delightful time on our self-guided tour. At times, my girls were as enamored of the local plant life as they were of the astonishing creation that is this house. Here they are checking out something at the base of a tree:


and here's a little something that Anne-with-an-e stopped to admire, wondering if it was Indian Pipe (though now that we've researched a little further, it looks too colorful. Pinesap? Anyone? I wish I had a better camera .... )


We spent an extremely pleasant couple of hours wandering, talking, marveling. Then, we took off for Gettysburg.

Atticus took the scenic way, Route 30, which was lovely, winding and rolling, and well, just a little bit quease-inducing after awhile, which prompted us to put Anne-with-an-e in the front seat in order to avoid any major catastrophes. Poor thing gets that from me. Ramona was delighted by this near-brush with carsickness, though, because it meant Mommy got stationed in the backseat with her. Bring on the guessing games! Bring on the songs! Bring on the joy of traveling right next to one's favorite companion! But, don't make Mommy look down for too long, or she'll be the one with the catastrophe!

After a long, scenic, long, winding, long, lovely, long drive, we got to Gettysburg. Whew. We checked into what we would later call the "No, That Would Be Too Much Service" hotel. We raced the kids straight to the closest restaurant before it closed, dropped many crumbs in the area of said restaurant that had already been vacuumed (I'm sure we had someone groaning) and Atticus secretly informed the waitress that it was Ramona's birthday. They brought her a free dessert and sang "Happy Birthday" to her.

She was adorably embarrassed.











Next up:
Atticus's dream of Gettysburg comes true.

Summer Trip '08, Part II, or, How to Spend Thirteen Days on the Road With Your Family and Still Love Them (and Have Them Still Love You)

Part I is here.

************

I left you hanging in a small town in Pennsylvania yesterday.

A small, depressing town. Not much there -- just a cluster of hotels, gas stations, bars and a pizza place.

We ate dinner at the pizza place.

We dubbed it New Wave Pizza. It's not all that often that you stop for pizza in a small, depressing town and hear all New Wave, All the Time. Rock Lobster, Love Shack, London Calling, the English Beat ... Atticus and I told very '80s stories to the kids and waxed nostalgic and felt not at all depressed.

The radio station, we decided, was possibly chosen by our waitress. She was such a funny mix of perky and punk. The eye make-up was stark, a little bit of black, but the smile was sweet and engaging. The tongue piercing said she was too cool to be there, but be there she was. She served us quickly and well and with a smile. She thought Ramona was cute. We thought she was nice. We paid our bill and left.

Then, somehow, as we drove off, the amount of the tip came up. Atticus had tipped 15%, which he thought was fine for pizza, even New Wave pizza. I scolded. "15%? That poor girl works in this crummy little town and probably has to live on her tips! You should have given her at least 20%, if not more." I was mostly teasing, but Atticus felt bad all the same. We went back. He ran in to drop off a few more dollars (because he's just that sweet, though he'll hate that I'm telling this story.)

Our waitress laughed and insisted that the original tip had been "Fine, just fine!" But he explained that his nagging dear wife had insisted he do better. She laughed, he tipped and left, and we drove to our hotel in the pouring rain and settled in for the night.

And that would have been that.

But, the next morning, after taking the kids swimming, we packed up and were hauling our mountain of luggage out of our room, just in the nick of checkout time, when housekeeping appeared. And, who should our maid be?

Our New Wave waitress.

She did a double-take. We did a double-take.

"Didn't you eat last night at .... " she began.

"Yes, we did," we laughed.

She laughed, too, and then we all wished one another good days in this small world, and we headed down the hall toward the elevator.

But, in my heart, I was wishing this girl more than a good day. I was wishing her a good life. Her tough exterior notwithstanding, I sensed something more. I still can't articulate exactly why I was so touched that she watched us walk down the hall (I know she was still watching us, because I turned back to give her a little wave) with a smile on her face the whole time, as if she, too, sensed something more in this coincidence.

That night, at the next hotel in the next town, as we finished up our family prayers, I added, "And for Rachel. I'm adding Rachel to our nightly prayers, guys."

"Who's Rachel?" they asked.

"The pizza waitress. The maid. The girl who lives in that depressing little town and makes her living cleaning hotel rooms and waiting tables. She can't have an easy life. I think God wants us to pray for her."

A quick caveat: there's nothing wrong with the honest labor of cleaning and serving. I could do several posts on the idea that good, honest labor doesn't get enough respect. It's not that such work is somehow "not good enough." No, no. That's not it.

It was the tough exterior that spoke out, that told me, on some level, she wanted something more, something different ... perhaps a more daring and exciting life than the one she is living. And I felt prompted to pray that she'll find something more -- the real, divine Something More that is the only thing that really counts.

And so we pray for Rachel, a sweet young girl in a small Pennsylvania town -- a town that really wasn't so depressing after all.

Because where there are coincidences, there is hope.

Tomorrow ... on to falling water and winding roads.

Summer Trip '08, or, How to Spend Thirteen Days on the Road With Your Family and Still Love Them (and Have Them Still Love You)

Pre-trip preparation:

1. Remind yourself that the four people with whom you'll be traveling are, on the whole, a really delightful bunch. Remind yourself that you may need to remind yourself of that at various points along the way. Continue packing and tying up loose ends at home.

2. Have what appears to you to be a heart attack. Spend outrageous amounts of money (three days before you are scheduled to drive cross-country) to have a cardiologist put you on a treadmill, call you an old lady, then pronounce you perfectly fit and healthy and express dismay that someone could appear to be so out of shape and still last that long on a treadmill. Vow to find a new cardiologist if you ever appear to have another heart attack. Thank God that you know you're healthy but ask Him why He has to put you through this stuff. Couldn't he just send you a nice, recognizable panic attack?

3. Read Mary Ellen Barrett's excellent article, Are We There Yet?, from the most recent issue of Faith and Family. Thank God for Mary Ellen and her sweet and funny wisdom. Repeat to yourself: "A family trip is not a vacation for Mom. A family trip is not a vacation for Mom. A family trip is not ...." Okay. You get the idea.

Day One of the Trip:

Be sure the trip begins on Atticus's birthday. At 5:50 a.m.

Something really special always happens on Atticus's birthday. For example, last year, Atticus spent his birthday in a parking lot in Bellevue, Nebraska, waiting for the 7th Harry Potter book to be released. He's never read a single Harry Potter book himself, but he loves you and the kids and will do anything for you. He'll stand around in a parking lot full of geeks in costumes (and even cheer wildly for his own offspring when she wins the costume contest.) And, he'll leave for Pennsylvania at 5:50 a.m. if you ask him to. So, ask him.

Drive for eleven hours, stopping only for bathroom breaks, gas and ice cream, and arrive at a hotel in South Bend, Indiana to find that there is a baton twirler convention there. Hmmm. Keep moving. But first, enjoy the milkshakes at Steak and Shake, let the kids swim and thank God for those free breakfasts at the hotel.

Drive the next day to a very small town in Pennsylvania. Take in some great views along the way.



That's all for tonight. Tomorrow, I'll fill you in on why we're praying for a waitress in a small town in Pennsylvania.

"Ramona, why is the Declaration of Independence taped to your duck pillow?"

Ramona: "Because, the pillow is, you know, a demonstration-ish, display-kind of thing, like a National Archive thing, for the Declaration. That's why."


Of course. Silly me.

Atticus explains

Frank Lloyd Wright to the girls.

The accounting

2,935 miles.
150 gallons of gas.
7 hotels.
6 maps.
2 laptops.
5 McDonald's stops.
4 pizza orders.
29 bottles of water.
33 friends, old and new.
19 postcards.
14 tollbooths.
1 evening of getting lost.
1 encounter with the Holiday Inn swimming pool gestapo.
1 delightful new beer for Atticus (Yuengling, not available in Nebraska, alas)
0 incidents of carsickness.

17,280 minutes of family togetherness.

5 bags of laundry to be done.

Pictures to follow.

A couple thousand miles later ....

We aren't quite home yet, but we will be any minute. Or any hour. Or something. (And, hey, any thieving sorts who are considering robbing our house? Let me assure you of the following ... everything of value that we own is with us. Piled high in the van each day, and dutifully hauled into new hotels each night. Atticus, Chief Hauler for the last 10 days, can attest to that. Given the amount of luggage we have with us, there couldn't possibly be anything left at home.)

We've seen Falling Water, Gettysburg, the wonderful group of women (and men!) who attended the fabulous Family Centered Learning Conference. Alice kindly rounded up a number of posts, and I'm stealing the links from her. Thank you, Alice!

Please see:
Michele Quigley
Margaret in Minnesota
Kimberlee of Pondered in My Heart
Mary Ellen Barrett
Heather of Doodle Acres
and Michelle Joy Waters of Living Waters

We followed up the conference with a bit of sightseeing in Washington D.C., as well as a joyful reunion with some old friends there.

Today, Atticus forced us to suggested that we push it hard and drive all day long and well into the evening. I think he's ready to see Nebraska again. I am, too, but it's been a marvelous trip and I can't wait to tell you more.

As soon as we're home.

Are we there yet?

Memoria Press and Instincts

Do you get this catalog?

Memoria Press's catalog, The Classical Teacher, always has great articles, making me feel that this is yet another magazine subscription that I should cancel in my ongoing effort to trim the budget. Then I remember that it's a free catalog, not a pricey magazine, and I settle in with a cup of coffee and some compelling reading.

The latest issue has a wonderful article by Cheryl Lowe entitled, "History is Not Chronological."

I nodded my head in agreement throughout, especially at the portions in which she recommends covering American History and Bible stories for first graders (as opposed to covering history in chronological order from the earliest grades on.) She discussed exactly what I was already planning to do with Ramona next year, which is to use whole, living books (Little House is calling our names) and Bible stories, and do plenty of fun activities such as making butter, and corncob dolls and doing other related crafts.

I've always thought that we need not study all the periods of history in chronological order, but rather that, for the early years in particular, we should study what's relevant to us, what makes sense when you're six, and what will stick. That's the way I started when Anne-with-an-e was in first grade -- it was the year of All Things Little House, Many Things American Girl, and The Beginning of the Timeline. And, for our history studies, this auspicious beginning has served us well. We seem to have raised kids who love history, as evidenced today in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. As we toured the tremendous museum here, the girls snapped pictures and moved from one fascinating exhibit to another. They stood in stark contrast to the surly boy who, when his father pointed out an amazing artifact with the exclamation, "Imagine! They've preserved that!" responded with, "So?"

I felt so bad for that poor dad.

Now, Ramona, on the other hand, was pretty bored at the Gettysburg Museum. She's just not old enough yet. And that's why, in the fall, we'll be diving into All Things Little House.

It just makes sense. Thanks, Memoria, for the affirmation. I often feel that my individual, anecdotal "evidence" of how well something works just isn't enough. It's so nice, sometimes, to see in print the respected opinions of others that demonstrate that my instincts and anecdotal evidence are more universal than I think they are.