Tag: campfires

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Planes, Trains and Automobiles, Hotdogs and the Homeless

This past weekend, the Clan Waugh assembled for no particular reason except for the fact all our calendars allowed it.  Andy flew in from San Diego, Amy took the train down from New Brunswick and Maggie and Jan drove up from Richmond.  Even Dave was able to be with us (his first weekend off this month).

In celebration of this momentous event, we built a fire in the pit out back and sat in the dark around it eating tasty grilled hotdogs imported from Buffalo with baked beans and crunchy pickles on the side.  Real hotdogs only come from western and central New York – just ask anyone who’s ever lived there.   Chicago hotdogs come close and there are those who would argue that Coney Island is the home of the hotdog.   But, if you’re lucky enough to have the opportunity to try a Sahlen’s Buffalo) or Hofmann’s (Syracuse) hotdog, after one bite, you’ll know I speak the truth.

After feasting on our dogs, we toasted marshmallows and made s’mores.  It was a perfect early fallish evening, with cool crisp air a sky so clear full of stars. The fire kept us warm and provided enough light to see at least a few feet.  At one point Izzie took advantage of the comings and goings out the back door and rushed out to join us.  I don’t usually let her out after dark because of the wild things. To ease the general concern for Izzie running around in the dark, I shared a story about how when I was a kid, we took our cat camping with us.  When we arrived at our site, she’d jump out the car door with the rest of us.  When we were ready to leave, she was right there, ready to go home.  I find that totally amazing, even now.  Then as now, we couldn’t see the kitty but could hear her bell jingling from time to time as she moved around the yard.

On Saturday we took a trip into C’ville to visit the Downtown Mall; a closed-off street in the old downtown area of the city, lined with a variety of shops and eateries leading to the nTelos Wireless Pavilion amphitheater.  Maybe I was just tired from the night before, and the day was cloudy, but I found myself really wanting to leave not long after arriving.

Instead of finding the charm of the late 19th century architecture or the beauty of the garden planters, I was distracted by the large number of panhandlers and homeless.  I just never know what to do when confronted by these people.  Their mere presence nudges me to take action on their behalf.  But what kind of action should I take?  Should I give them money?  Will they use it for food as their cardboard signs claim or buy drugs or booze?  Should I buy them food and give that to them?  Are they really in need or are they working the crowd?  It seems all I can do without hesitation is pray for them.

A woman approached Dave and I while we were waiting for the kids to finish up in an antique shop.  She blurted out her story without invitation or taking a breath.  She had spent the night in the hospital and was released in the morning without being fed.  She was a sad looking soul, probably about my age.  Her skin was pale and her nose was scabbed over as if she’d taken a tumble head first onto gravel.  A kind nurse had given her a pair of scrub pants to wear because all she’d been wearing the night before was a t-shirt and shorts and the weather had taken a turn.  She said her wallet was at home and all she needed was a couple of dollars to get a bite from the McDonald’s dollar menu.  Her boyfriend was going to pick her up when he got off work, she said, but really need something to eat before then.

I almost never carry cash, I so rarely need it.  My life is conveniently paid for electrically either online or with plastic.  Luckily, Dave had a couple of singles and offered them to her.  She thanked us and went on her way.

One on one, it’s easy to made a decision.  When a person comes to me for help, I’ll do my best to lend a hand or few dollars as the case may be.  After she left, I asked Dave if he thought her story was true.  He said he supposed it was possible since she was wearing scrubs and still had a hospital bracelet on her wrist.  In the end though, it really didn’t matter.

 

 

 

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Monticello – Part One

The past couple of weeks have been chock full of activity in our house.  Last Monday, we welcomed our first overnight visitors, Bonnie and the boys – welcomed them, that is, after guiding them to our “Garman stealth” location via Bonnie’s cell phone.  Although our street is six years old, doesn’t appear on all satellite maps, rendering Google maps and some navigation systems useless.  It’s just another quirk about living in the country.

After a quick tour of the new house, both boys declared it wonderful and set off to explore and settle in to their room.  I put them in the FROG (finished room over the garage) where they would have plenty of room, access to the toys, games, puzzles, TV and Wii.  They were in heaven!  Most of the time we were home, the boys were happily up in there room providing Bonnie and I plenty of quiet time to visit.  Probably Seth and Caleb’s favorite feature in our new house was the jetted tub in our bathroom.   Calling it the “Wonderful Bath” they eagerly jumped into it each night before bed, enjoying long soaks as the jetted water bubbled around them.

Tuesday morning we toured Thomas Jefferson’s Monticello.  Mr. Thomas Jefferson was an interesting fellow and his home definitely reflected his personality and varied interests.  I saw some innovative features that would helpful to many homes.  I especially liked the wine bottle dumb waiters on either side of the fireplace in the dining room which brought fresh bottles of wine to the table and took the empties away.  While most of the world may view Jefferson as the author of the Declaration of Independence,
we here in Virginia are also thankful that although personally unsuccessful at it, Jefferson introduced wine making to our area of the state!

Monticello offered many hands-on exhibits where Seth and Caleb could get a taste of life in colonial Virginia.  They both tried writing with a quill.  Seth became inspired and wrote a page full, while poor Caleb demonstrated just why all children in those days were forced to write with their right hands.  Left-handedness and quills are not a good mix.  To soothe his frustration, I led him to an area where the making of a memory journal were offered.  Then, for the rest of our time there, I took pictures per his instruction to add to his journal.

Another exhibit both boys enjoyed was the Griffin Discovery Room.  Tucked away in a quiet corner of the visitor’s center, this discovery area offers hand’s-on enjoyment geared
towards children, but Bonnie and I both enjoyed sitting in the replica chairs
and having a go at Jefferson’s code wheels and “polygraph”.  Seth busied himself by systematically checking out each item while Caleb gravitated to the replica slave family home and began cooking at the fireside. Later, when I asked him what kind of house it was, he said it was for “people helping people”.  I suppose from the display that is what he saw, skilled craftsmen and women helping the Jefferson family – not the best way to look at slavery.

That evening after dinner, Poppa treated the boys to a marshmallow roast in the fire pit out back.  It was great fun.  The boys enjoyed the fire and the roasting, but I think Bonnie and I enjoyed eating the marshmallows more than the boys did!  We had one near-miss when Seth’s marshmallow became aflame and he yanked it out of the fire and almost into Caleb’s hair.  For the most part, it was one of those peaceful moments, a memory in the making, when all the memories of past marshmallow roasts and evening fires flood my mind, bringing all the family and friends who’ve shared these times with me.  It’s a communion of sorts, sharing the molten clouds of sugar with family and remembering those of the past, leaving me warm inside.

The next morning, they were off.  As they were leaving Seth said, “I wish we never had to leave.”  I told him I hoped he would always feel that way about coming to my house.  What a great visit.