Middle-aged (body) breakdowns....

So for today's tale, how 'bout we visit the category of "Wow, getting older really sucks"? I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm generally pretty healthy and super-grateful for that. (Also pausing to superstitiously knock on wood, because after all, we'll take all the luck we can get, right? Okay, I'm back). However, I feel like--just in the last several years, really--I've reached sort of a...precarious age...when there's always seems to be some body part acting obnoxious and causing me grief.

For example, I just finally bullied my left knee into submission (with lots of trial and error, until at long last one of the string of orthopedists I consulted happened to hit upon the unique set of exercises that magically calmed my intransigent joint). But then, after only a few short, blessed pain-free weeks...my heel started complaining after I finished a run. (Yes, just one, again. Apparently I'm, I don't know, "uneven" or something...)

But seriously, a HEEL? Why does that even happen? Perhaps I should insert, here, that ever since I began jogging at age 15, I've been a forefront-strike kinda girl. As in, the balls of my feet are the only part that actually touches the ground. So obviously this was not only a new and unpleasant development, but also pretty baffling, given the fact that I've been using the same stride without consequences for such a long time. Initially, it honestly wasn't that bad, though--just a bit of achiness that would hobble me for the rest of the evening, but dissipate by the next morning. Therefore I followed my standard operating procedure when faced with a suspected injury: I completely ignored it.

That is, until bootcamp two Sundays ago, which was our interval-type run with exercise stops. I got through it with only a modicum of discomfort...but when we were done, I could barely walk. The situation had abruptly escalated to "bad enough to visit a professional as soon as humanly possible". As it turned out, this would conveniently be the very next morning, at a local orthopedic clinic that allows walk-in patients (or, you know, "limp-in", as it were...).

It took the doctor approximately 30 seconds to hand down a diagnosis of "plantar fasciitis"...a malady I've certainly heard of, and know multiple people who've experienced. Evidently I didn't have a very clear understanding of what caused it or how it presented, though, because that was not at all what I would have guessed was currently plaguing my foot. He prescribed a few specific stretches that target the area, and assured me that if I followed his advice to do them "every hour if you can" I should see improvement in a couple of days, and a return to "normal" (whatever that means at this point) in a matter of weeks.

Huh. Setting aside the frequency recommendation (which we can all agree is ridiculous and unrealistic, yeah?), that sounded like a plan I could put in motion. So I settled into what I felt was a reasonable pattern of completing the 4-minute program twice each in the morning, afternoon, and evening, for six times (totaling 24 minutes) per day. Heck, I even threw in some Ibuprofen and the occasional interlude with an ice pack, just for extra measure. (Why not cover ALL the bases, I always say...)

But imagine my surprise when a golden nugget of wisdom--perhaps even the BEST one--came from an unexpected source...my chiropractor. He always asks if there are any new areas of concern to report, so I enlightened him about my heel issue. Without missing a beat, he held up a finger and said, "Let me show you something that might help!" Hence my introduction to the wonder of RockTape--you know what I'm talking about, the adhesive strips you see pro athletes wearing on their shoulders, or knees, or calves. I always wondered why they did that, and now, thanks to my holistic practitioner-dude, I can tell you that it has something to do with supporting the muscles...reducing fatigue...and preventing or alleviating that old bugger, inflammation.

Well, it certainly seemed worth a try, so I let him apply the stuff (and take pictures, so I'd be able to recreate the trick at home). And...whether it's a placebo effect, the power of positive thinking, or an actual physiological phenomenon...I'd swear it's making a difference. And you know what? It can't hurt me, so my philosophy on these kinds of treatments can best be summed up as "Eh, why not?"

Then, after being rational and patient (I know, right? ME? Strange times, my friends...) and refraining from running for about 10 days to give the healing time to progress, I woke up one morning...feeling pretty much back-to-normal. So, all day I strolled around (still performing the stretches every few hours), wondering if it would be foolish to attempt the evening group-run I sometimes attend. But as the workout hour approached, I made the executive decision...to go for it.

"What's the worst that could happen?" I speculated. "I have to slow down to a walk? The route is familiar, so I won't get lost, I'd just be...the last one back. No biggie!" So yeah, I talked myself into it. And lemme tell ya...it went fine. (Despite the 90-degree lingering heat, which was a whole other challenge...) Sure, I utilized ALL of the tools an old...er runner has at her disposal: the super-special tape...the glamorous compression socks...the pharmaceuticals and cold wraps. Yet, despite some manageable soreness, the foot appears to have made it through its return to pounding the pavement relatively unscathed.

Of course, I have no way to predict how long this particular ailment will stick around, but at least I have an arsenal of information and remedies with which to attack it. And a whole week to rest and recuperate again before I absolutely have to lace up my running sneakers...for a 5K that Riley and I are already signed up to do. Please keep your fingers (and toes?) crossed that the grab-bag of quick-fixes at my disposal continues to do the trick, thankyouverymuch!

Automobile Anecdotes...

When I was growing up, my family had a couple of go-to vacations that we tended to repeat. Beach trips to Ocean City, Maryland (which surely contributed to my deep-seated love for sea, sand, and sun). Visits to my mom's relatives in middle-of-nowhere Kentucky (and if you don't think THAT was a fabulous 16-hour car ride...you're absolutely right...). And we were sooo fortunate to have an excuse to trek to "the most magical place on Earth"-- aka "Mickey Land"...um "Disneyworld"--due to the proximity (ish) of a great aunt and uncle who conveniently retired to Florida and provided a stopping-off point a couple of hours away from the park. All of which made for many fond memories of childhood fun.

But when I became an adult, it slowly began to dawn on me that perhaps I'd inherited some kind of, I don't know, recessive....wanderlust gene. So I started traveling when I could--returning to Vero Beach for highly entertaining interludes with the great aunt, treating myself to a European fortnight as a reward for prevailing through my grueling graduate program, and finally driving to all corners of the country (and occasionally over the border to Canada, for some...international variety) when I had a real job (with Summers off--yay, 10-month public school calendar).

Luckily, Boyfriend-Who-Became-Husband seemed to share the same explorer's trait, and therefore was on board with the whole "mega road trip" notion from the beginning. So the two of us meandered out to Colorado to visit friends (transplanted from his childhood home of Pittsburgh--go figure). And for our honeymoon, we motored around Ireland (figuring out how to navigate the "wrong side" of the narrow, winding roads...while also dodging sheep...and ginormous tour buses. Dear Heaven Above, I'm still amazed we survived...). Then there was the first, fateful excursion to San Francisco (also bunking with former 'burghers. What is it with these wild bands of...roving Steel City denizens? Or what have you...).

As for the yearly getaways enjoyed by Team WestEnders, they've been well chronicled right here, since our inaugural vacay in 2009, when we elected to kick off the whole shebang with...Uncle Walt's Playground. (Okay, okay, "Disneyworld". Sheesh!) So, you might be wondering through this rambling epistle...why all the sudden nostalgia? Well, because this year, Husband chose an anniversary card that talks about our "life's journey"--which normally would cause me to perhaps roll my eyes and gag just a little since we're generally NOT about the schmaltzy Hallmark moments in this house. But he saved it from drowning in an excess of syrupy sentiment (and himself from getting a merciless mocking from the dinner table squad) by writing in just a couple of the notable destinations...or in some cases, more like "pit stops"...along our path....all of which had been awarded a place among our collected WestEnders Lore immediately following the experiences.

Without further ado, here are their stories:
Johnsonville, PA: this one is actually JohnsonBURG, but it's totally understandable that he muffed the name because A) the commercials all over TV for the damn sausage manufacturer and B) it was a completely unmemorable one-gas-station "town", all alone in the central-Pennsylvanian wilderness. In short, the four of us were on the way to Cooperstown, NY, navigating small state highways...and ready for lunch. As we traversed mile after mile of nothingness, with 11 and 8-year old boys becoming increasingly ravenous and disgruntled, we suddenly came upon...well, a dot that actually showed up on the map, at least. (That's right, a paper version. 'Cuz lemme tell ya, we had ZERO bars of cell service out there, my friend...) Hooray, we were saved! Um...yeeeahhh...not so much: we ended up getting sandwiches....from the Subway counter located inside the aforementioned lone fuel outpost. Lesson learned? When tackling the Keystone State, plan ahead, and pack lots more snacks! (No photo evidence...obvs...)

Prairie Dog Town, KS: Have you ever driven across the middle of the U.S. on Interstate 70? If so, you know where I'm going with this--and if not...I wouldn't recommend it, folks. Let's just say...there's a LOT of...corn. Some wheat. A couple of sunflowers. But it's the "Great Plains", right? Suuuure...and by that, they must mean "super-flat"...plus "mind-numbingly boring". But if you're silly (or maybe it was "frugal"? Sure, we'll go with that...) enough to be covering the distance between the East Coast and Colorado by automobile, rather than airplane, you kind of don't have a choice. Which is why, after who knows how many hours of tedium, Husband couldn't resist pulling over to check out a...roadside attraction...he saw advertised on one of the few billboards we'd passed.

I recall being less-than-enthused--I might have said (shouted) something along the lines of "Prairie dogs, who cares? They're the Midwestern equivalent of SQUIRRELS, for crying out loud!" But he was not to be deterred. Even when the "special exhibits" included creatures such as a 5-legged calf...clearly the result of a horrible birth defect, and therefore both heartbreaking and revolting. For yeeearrrrs, every time he made a questionable suggestion for an activity or location we should try, I only had to invoke three words to shut it down immediately: Prairie. Dog. Town.

Newton, IA: Honestly, another one from that SAME TRIP that plunged Husband into hot water, so he must figure that the statute of limitations has passed by now. You see, on the way back towards civilization--I mean "Maryland"--we planned to stop in Chicago for some baseball (naturally). But first we had to cover a whole bunch of miles; thus we set out for a long day on the road, with the goal being to get as far as we could before stopping for the night. After many hours of chugging along, we found ourselves becoming weary, and began looking for signs indicating a suitable hotel. Lo and behold, at that moment we realized we'd almost made it to Des Moines, which as the capital, would surely meet our modest hospitality needs. As we approached the off-ramp, however, Husband spoke the calamitous words that have haunted us to this day, "Des Moines is a major city, so I'm sure there's more than one exit. Why don't we try to get to the far side before we stop...so we can avoid traffic in the morning."

Holy "are you freakin' kidding me, Batman"? Even at the time, I'm positive that I must have turned and gaped at him in disbelief as I sputtered something along the lines of, "I mean, have you even been paying attention? Have you noticed many bustling metropolis...es (metropoli? whatever...) in this part of the country? And what in the name of all things holy do you think you're going to run into tomorrow...farmers moving their cattle across the street to another field?  I know it's been an endless slog today, but in case you've somehow forgotten, We're. In. I-O-W-A, dude!" In short, I was not...best pleased...by his decision--especially when it turned out to be (you guessed it) the ONLY opportunity...to take advantage of all the special things Des Moines might have to offer.

As we whizzed past the marker, leaving behind the welcoming lights of town, we faced nothing ahead of us but blank space as far as the eye could see. So we kept going...and going...as it grew later...and then earlier...until finally we stumbled upon good old Newton. Even then, it seemed like other people had fallen into the same trap, because we stopped several times to inquire about "room at the inn", only to encounter people already lined up at the front desk ahead of us, and no vacancies to be had. Finally--if I remember correctly it was attempt #3--Husband determinedly departed the vehicle and vowed that he wouldn't return without a key, come hell or high water. I waved him off without much hope at this point, as it was oh, approximately 3 a.m.

A few minutes later, after reportedly waiting in yet another queue (seriously, the inexplicable crowds of...tourists?...in the dead of night...in Iowa...remain an unsolvable mystery to this very day) he marched back triumphantly, waving the promised golden ticket to unlock a much-needed bed. He also mentioned that the clerk had tried to extort an outrageous amount of money from him, (which was probably like 100 bucks--this was the '90s, after all...in--I just can't stress this enough--Newton, Iowa) until he'd retorted, "We're on a tight schedule--we're just going to take a NAP!" and suddenly got a discount for his mild outrage. But the final, unforgettable piece of this ridiculous tale came when we entered our chamber, intent upon maximizing our precious window of snooze time...and instantly noticed the mirrored ceiling over the bed. Yep...nothing but the classiest digs for us, y'all...

Winchester, VA: This was one of the few field trips with the boys that didn't quite work out as expected. I wanted to take an overnight foray to somewhere fairly close that we hadn't been before, and my research made Winchester seem like it had both a quaint town to stroll around in, and some history, in the form of a battlefield we could wander. As it happened, the date of our chosen expedition was frigid--as in, biting wind and sub-zero temps, making it thoroughly miserable to be outside. Plus, the alleged Civil War site consisted of: a large, empty plot of land. No helpful historical plaques. No cannons. Nada. On top of that, Riley had a bit of a cough, which hadn't seemed worrisome at the outset, but which appeared to worsen throughout our explorations during the day. (Side note: he'd actually be diagnosed with bronchitis when we got home. Soooo much Mom Guilt over that, for a long time to come....)

So, after we'd exhausted our options for amusement in the disappointing town of Winchester, I wracked my brains trying to figure out how to salvage even one nice thing out of our weekend. And then I noticed the movie theater right next to our hotel...which being a "drafthouse" type operation, was something the boys had never experienced. Even better, they were showing (wait for it) Frozen, a film none of us had yet seen. When I suggested to the 12 and 9 year-olds that we take in a princess flick, they were indignant--until I revealed that there would be FOOD involved, at which time they reluctantly agreed to tough it out.

And you know what? To this day, they disparage Winchester as one of the worst places they've ever been (ahem...dramatic exaggeration being a characteristic they might have received from yours truly...) but also list Frozen among their favorite Disney offerings of all time.  In fact, Derek admitted to me just the other day that--with the sequel coming out around Thanksgiving--he looked up the distance from Chapel Hill to...Winchester....to see if if would be feasible for us to drive there and recreate the whole scenario! (Sadly, it's too far...but I also did a little Googling, and it turns out that there's an Alamo Drafthouse in Raleigh, so it just may happen...with a better neighborhood...and hopefully no contagious diseases!)

And finally, Santa Rosa, CA: Next to this one, Husband wrote "aka 'The Hood'", which is what the Male Trio took to calling it when we went on our reconnaissance mission to Northern Cali in 2013. You see, at the time I was intent on relocating us out there, to the consternation of pretty much everyone else in the nuclear and extended clan alike. So they were scrounging for any excuse to find the area unacceptable, even if they had to invent reasons with little or no basis in fact, like "high-crime" or "bad schools". Never mind that we had a delightful time--hiking, playing in state parks, trekking all over San Francisco--they refused to thoroughly let their guard down and embrace the Left Coast while under the threat of having to actually, you know, "become Californians". I suspect they look back upon it much more favorably now that we're safely ensconced in North Carolina...and Derek still wears his Alcatraz Swim and Dive Team souvenir t-shirt, staunchly resisting my gentle suggestions that he discard it, the more faded and threadbare it becomes.

Whew! There you have it: a lengthy and convoluted amble down Memory Lane, pausing at just a few of the highlights, and brought to you by Team WestEnders, gallivanting and creating yarns that no one could make up...since 1995. Stay tuned....we're not inclined to stay put, so surely there'll be more...stuff and nonsense...to come!

Mother's Day #19

Team WestEnders observed a low-key Mother's Day, as per usual for us. One of the nicest things about this year's version was that Derek returned to the fold earlier in the week, so I had both kids home for the holiday. And no matter how much or how little we actually do to mark the occasion--begging your momentary indulgence as I quote a revoltingly schmaltzy saying--the best present...is definitely their presence. (I know, I know: ewwww! I warned you, okay? I promise it won't happen again...soon...)

And on the subject of gifts, there's an amusing story. You see, when Derek arrived back in the nest after his year of...distance learning... he naturally dumped his small pile of belongings in our bonus room to sort, consolidate, weed out, and repack them in preparation for the next time he departs in August. (And can I just say that it warmed my heart to keep him company while he wrangled his possessions--chatting and periodically jumping in to consult when he couldn't quite figure out what to do with a particular item. I'm inordinately pleased that at least SOME of my organizational tendencies rubbed off on him! Mother/Son bonding at its best, lemme tell ya...)


Anyway, I've clearly gotten way off track here, so reining it in: we'd already been laughing at the ridiculous number of free t-shirts bestowed upon him during his first 2 semesters at the university, advertising everything from the school itself, to athletic events, to local businesses. Then at one point he pulled out a sweatshirt depicting his residence hall for the year. I commented on how cool that was, which he brushed off with a disparaging, "No hood; I'll never wear it." I responded with a side-eyed glance, which seemed to cause him a moment of confusion, before he caught on and correctly interpreted, "Oh, right...Mom's always lamenting how hard it is to find non-hoodies for herself....this would be perfect for her!" So he tossed it to me with a cheery, "There you go, Mom. Happy Mother's Day!"

(Hey, it may be a cheap swag hand-me-down from my kid's college, but it made me happy, so that's what counts, right? Besides, with the amount we're paying for his education, I figured it's the very minimum they can do for me...)

Sunday itself included some of our customary activities, such as my outdoor bootcamp/breakfast at Whole Foods with the fitness gang afterwards, and church for me and the boys. There was one slight difference in the latter, however: lately Riley has been using the drive to services as behind-the-wheel practice, to amass hours that he needs to log before he can get his actual license. Thus I think this might have been the first time I've been in the passenger seat, with Derek in the back and Riley chauffeuring us...which provided one of those weird/disconcerting "the kids are too grown-up for my comfort" moments that happen on an unfortunately regular basis. (Siiiighhh...)

On the way home we detoured to Kohl's, to purchase socks for the college dude who refused to be bothered with replacing his worn-out ones during the academic term, and therefore brought a mound of tattered, holey, unusable rags back...for the garbage. (Um...thanks for that, sweetie...)Then while we were already out...at lunchtime...we made a snap decision to take the opportunity to dine at one of Riley's and my faves (Mediterranean Deli, a much-loved Chapel Hill institution offering a dizzying variety of super-tasty dishes). Impromptu (delicious) fun with the fam--yay!

After completing our agenda of communing with God, accomplishing errands, and foraging, we headed back to the homestead for a relaxing afternoon. I also got to enjoy my actual surprises, which included cards, flowers, a Dunkin' Donuts giftcard, and dark chocolate peanut butter cups. First of all, do my guys know me, or what? Secondly, they chose wisely on the candy, which came from a brand that I trust so much I don't even have to read the labels anymore. (But Husband--less well-versed in the world of organic/gluten-free/environmentally friendly/etc. declared "You should have seen us in the store, scrutinizing the ingredients. We did our homework!" Nicely done, gentlemen...)

All-in-all, it was a pleasant and satisfying Dia de Madres, most notably marked by good food and Team WestEnders togetherness. Truly, what more can a girl ask for? Now if you'll excuse me, there are some sweets calling my name....mmmm....

The final 'burgs

For the final foray of our adventurous group's Civil War expedition, it was up and at 'em again early on Sunday. First, we retreated (ha!) from Gettysburg in yet another tempest of blinding rain. (And can I just say, "Okay, you've made your point, Pennsylvania; we're leaving, already!" Sheesh!) Several hours later--after a journey eerily devoid of bumper-to-bumper traffic, miles-long snarls, or other infuriating nonsense I expect when confronting Interstate 95--we congregated in Fredericksburg, Virginia for interactive lesson #1 of the day.

We began at Chatham Manor, a stately house perched high atop a steep hill and boasting a lovely panoramic view of the Rappahannock River below, as well as the city beyond its far banks. Belonging to a Southern slaveholder who left to fight for the Confederacy, the property was overtaken and occupied by Union forces in 1862. With Lee's troops across the water in Fredericksburg, General Ambrose Burnside opted to wait for the arrival of pontoon boats to assist in moving his men and equipment to the other side....even though one of his own officers reported how he'd observed the river being safely and quickly forded by some local farmers and their livestock. Because of his refusal to act, the Northern army then had to spend the Winter camped out on the grounds, presumably taking the extra time to strategize and plan for their eventual campaign.

Things went poorly in the Spring, however, when they finally got around to engaging. Our resident history teacher described it as "the Union version of Pickett's charge", with wave after wave of soldiers fruitlessly attempting to attack the strong Confederate position on higher ground. So to sum up: one more lousy showing based on monumentally bad decision-making by a commander of the Army of the Potomac...who was then removed by Lincoln (probably in disgust, at this point. And who could blame him, really? In case you haven't caught it yet, the repeating motif here is that it's honestly a miracle the Union ever prevailed....)

From there, we explored the battlefield itself, along with the inevitable cemetery--both tucked unobtrusively into a quiet corner of modern-day Fredericksburg. And then it was back into the cars to mosey 90 minutes or so to our final stop of the entire weekend hullabaloo: Petersburg, Virginia. As we approached the Visitor's Center, for the first time on this trip I realized with a jolt...I recognized nothing! Somehow, having managed to visit all of the surrounding historically significant locales (Chancellorsville, the Wilderness--heck, I even stopped by the place where they buried Stonewall Jackson's ARM, for crying out loud. And you should believe me, 'cuz I couldn't even make that up if I tried...) I'd just...missed this one. It's a mystery, I tell ya...

Anyway, this meant that I got brand new information, which was super-cool. And what I learned was: Petersburg was a gateway to Richmond, the Confederacy's capital, and also seated on multiple rail lines that the Union wanted to wrest from the South's control. However...in an all-too-familiar refrain...another Union general's dithering ("Baldy" Smith, as ignominious a name as I've ever heard)...and actually disobeying orders (From Ulysses S. Grant. Seriously, would YOU defy this dude? I'm thinking No. Damn. Way.)...prevented what could have been a decisive Northern victory that ended the war (yet again), but instead led to a grueling almost-11-month siege instead.

This included the Battle of the Crater, in which a group of miners from Pennsylvania approached Grant with an idea that involved digging a secret tunnel--finishing up underneath the Confederates' position--and then blowing it up. That part all went according to plan, and the explosion produced a hole 130 feet long, 60 feet wide, and 30 feet deep, killing 352 Confederate soldiers in the process. However, in the ensuing chaos and confusion, Union troops rushed into combat without direction, while the Southerners recovered quickly and rallied a deadly response, dispatching far more of their enemy than they had lost in the blast. (And Burnside was fired. Shocker...) It didn't ultimately matter, since Union forces simply outlasted the Confederacy's battered, depleted resistance to take the city in early April of 1865--and the conclusion came a week later with Grant and Lee's fateful meeting at Appomattox Courthouse to finalize the official surrender.

Whew! At this point, my head was FULL of facts and figures and...whatnot, y'all. It had been an educational, enjoyable, enlightening 3-days of live-action school, and I was W-I-P-E-D. But wait, I had to stay awake for 2 more hours of driving homeward--assisted by caffeinated beverages, I'm not ashamed to say. And I think it's a safe bet that after 800+ miles behind the wheel over a long weekend I'm staying put for a while! At least until I figure out what's next...stay tuned!

The first of a trio of 'burgs

For Saturday's continuation of the Civil War on-site lecture series, an intrepid group of North Carolinians (comprised of both natives and transplants like me, but all claiming Union sympathies, regardless of the fact that our adopted state chose to fight for the--ahem--wrong side) stormed Gettysburg National Battlefield Park. This has long been one of my personal favorites, with its pastoral landscapes, vast acreage for roaming by car and on foot, and plethora of interesting monuments to inform and entertain.

The "class" enjoyed another bonanza of fascinating tidbits from our expert history teacher/fearless leader, but for me, the highlight came when we recreated the infamous Pickett's Charge, which happened on the final day of the conflict. Ordered by Robert E. Lee, the assault pitted 15,000 Confederate troops against General Meade's smaller Northern force, who were holding higher ground known as Cemetery Ridge. A questionable foray across an open patch of unprotected farmland, it resulted in massive casualties for the Southern army, a decisive Union victory--and also marked the last time Lee would invade the North.



Fortunately, we were spared the crushing heat and humidity suffered by the participants in July of 1863....but we did get to trudge our way through mucky terrain and traverse formidable puddles, thanks to last night's torrential downpours...so, kind of an authentic experience? (That's about as realistic as we'd like it to be, honestly...) Our imaginations were certainly challenged by the task of trying to visualize the carnage while surrounded by picturesque barns and rolling hills carpeted in cheerful yellow wildflowers, but we did our best. (Aided by the pictured Rebel-suited gentleman, who overtook us on the path and stopped to insert himself into the narrative for a while...)

Later, I also took some time on my own to stroll through the cemetery. ('Cuz let's face it, we're all well aware of my inexplicable obsession with graveyards by now, yeah?) It's a lovely, peaceful place--while also managing to convey a somber reminder of the horrific consequences that resulted from prolonged, brutal, bloody combat in the devastating War Between the States.

I'm not gonna lie--by the time we'd completed our programmed activities (7-1/2 hours and 20,000 steps after we started the clock in the morning, if you're curious) I was pretty beat. So I mindfully made the choice to pass the remainder of my evening in grateful appreciation of some very special modern conveniences and luxuries...such as television, air conditioning, hot showers, clean clothes, cold beverages, and restaurant food! After all, I knew I'd have to set an alarm for Sunday, so I could roll out bright and early (eh, or more likely "fairly sleepy and moderately grumpy", but whatever) to meet the gang at our next scheduled stop in Fredericksburg. And this would-be war correspondent needs some serious shut-eye, so for now, good night, Pennsylvania!

A weekend education

You might recall me telling you about the Civil War lecture series I attended in February, taught by one of Riley's High School teachers. Well, as a sort of culminating activity, he also leads a field trip for those who wish to visit some of the battlefields with a professional historian/exceptional storyteller. Sure, I've been to all of the locations myself at least once--but never with the benefit of a formal tour or a dedicated guide (who has devoted his life to studying world conflicts, it seems) to highlight some of the strategies, provide colorful details, give in-depth description, and offer intelligent analysis of the proceedings and outcomes. (Soooo much more entertaining than just reading the plaques, y'all!)

Anyway, can we agree that this seemed like the very definition of a no-brainer for me? So I signed right up, and prepared myself for a whirlwind experience. You see, we'd be covering 5 sites, in 4 states (not even including the the travel portion in NC), over 3 days. Whew! There's clearly no time to waste, so let's get started with Day 1: Harper's Ferry and Antietam. We heard all about John Brown's Raid, an ill-fated, poorly planned and recklessly executed attempt to gain control of the armory and, apparently, start some kind of "free black nation" if he was successful. Not only did he fail, but he was ultimately hung for his crimes. (The town itself--nestled in the mountains, on the confluence of the Potomac and Shenandoah rivers--is quite lovely, though!)

From there, we motored over to Antietam (which I suppose I really should call Sharpsburg, after the Union fashion) to take in the sprawling battleground and listen to tales about the "bloodiest single day of the war", in which 23,000 young men were killed, wounded, or missing after 12 hours of brutal combat. I'll spare you the gruesome specifics, and sum up the takeaway from this particular clash between, among others, George McClellan and Robert E. Lee: the Northern general had several opportunities to strike decisively at the South's much smaller forces, cripple the Confederate army, and bring the whole ugly War Between the States to an end. In each instance, he grappled with indecision and declined to act, thus prolonging the agony of a divided America for another 2-1/2 devastating years.

Another thing I'd either forgotten after many years out of class, or never learned in the first place, is that although neither side could claim a clear victory, it was the first time Lee had been forced to withdraw from a confrontation. President Lincoln, feeling encouraged that the tide might finally be turning, then issued the Emancipation Proclamation 4 months later. Because of this action, European nations, who had already abolished slavery, would no longer recognize or trade with the Confederacy. And because of the damage this caused to their economic situation--in terms of both commerce and obtaining supplies for their troops and citizens--this ultimately signaled the beginning of the end for the aspiring independent nation.


Fascinating stuff, I tell ya. (Yeah, yeah, I know: Nerd Girl. I'm okay with it...) Having relived the terrible events of a nightmare day of bloodshed, we were done with the learning portion of our afternoon. All we had to accomplish after that was a relatively brief drive to Gettysburg, where we'd be bunking (not literally, thank goodness!) for the night. Easy peasy, yeah? Ha! Tell that to the capricious Weather Gods, who unleashed a MOTHER of a storm...which, apparently, we needed to navigate ALL THE WAY THROUGH to reach our hotel. Let me recap the relevant details: visibility? Damn near nada. Rain? Hmm...imagine trying to pilot one's vehicle through a carwash, (but without the helpful rails to keep you headed in the right direction. Just had to, you know, "make your best guess" as to where the lines, curves in the road, etc. might be. Super-exciting! And by that I mean "utterly terrifying" and "potentially deadly at any moment"!)


What else...right, thunder? Yep, like Thor himself was swinging that gigantic hammer of his (and not in a cute Chris Hemsworth way, either. Dang it...). Oh, and my favorite--lightning! In fact, one time it flashed right over my car, so close that I couldn't help jumping in my seat....and I could actually smell the burned ozone afterwards! Yaaayyyy! All of the...pandemonium...was so loud that I couldn't even hear the GPS, with my phone turned to maximum volume. Yeeeaahhh....that may very well have been in the Top 3 most harrowing jaunts I've ever taken, in all my years behind the wheel.

But here I am in--what state again? Right, Pennsylvania...where I'll join up with my group tomorrow morning to do the full-day Gettysburg shebang. It's been a loooonnnng day, and my bed is calling, so I'm going to turn in....and hopefully have peaceful, sunny dreams!