So much catching up to do here…
Well, we returned safely from our trip to Maryland. It was a drive, to say the least. The way out was through Knoxville, up along 81, then over to 70 east. Finally got to see where the big race is held here in Tn. Beautiful area. Once there, we were treated like visiting royalty…we each had our own bedroom, the Primary Wife and I had the entire bottom floor of this immense house overlooking the Maryland hillsides, really quite breathtaking. Our princess, Supermousey, had a big beautiful four poster bed in her room, and she spent her time there holding a wine glass filled with water or tea and walking around like she was born to it. We drove into Baltimore and visited the National Aquarium, then walked around around the harbor and got to climb up on a couple of ships that were survivors of Pearl harbor, a Coast Guard light ship and a submarine that actually sank the last enemy ship during World War Two.
Then our hosts treated us to dinner at a modest steakhouse called, um, Ruth Chris’s. There was food everywhere. I accidentally wandered into the bar while looking for a restroom, and felt compelled to order a single malt scotch to cover up my mistake. Then, I felt compelled to repeat the whole process. The kids were quite taken by this place, so much so, that Supermousey took pictures of her dessert, (a raspberry sorbet) and The Nog kept running into the restroom to use the free mouthwash and hand lotion they provide. Later, a handful of Ravens came in to celebrate their victory over the previously undefeated Broncos. As is my habit, I got nose to nose with a drunk patron that bumped into me and gave me a “go to hell” look to boot. As I was explaining to him that I welcomed a little post dinner exercise if he desired, his driver separated us diplomatically, and that was the end of it. (turns out, the valet guys saw what was happening, and went and got the driver. The drunk in question turned out to be a good friend of the owner and has a reputation for being obnoxious, unlike myself. I guess my time chatting up the valet guys earlier in the evening was well spent.)
The next day, off to D.C. We drove to Brunswick, caught the Marc-Train (I kid you not) which dropped us at Union Station. From there, we bought tickets on a double decker tour bus and visited every single historical landmark you can name. Washington D.C. is a gorgeous city in the Fall. I could spend a week there just visiting the museums and sitting in the many parks surrounding the Capitol. This picture sums up Nog’s mood that day:
The weather, btw, was perfect. Cool, sunny, just a little windy crossing the Potomac.
As fate would have it, we happened to be in the right place at the right time, and we got to meet POTUS:
I think Mr. Obama has intimacy issues, since, even with a warm, caring, in fact, adoring supporter like me, he remained quite rigid and dare I say a tad distant. Actually, I found him rather one dimensional.
Finally, we got to visit what I consider the crown jewel of the D.C. tourist attractions, the National Cathedral. I was asked to speak briefly, and here is a pic the press pool snapped:
After speaking to a packed house, i had the cathedral cleared, turned, admonished the good Lord in Latin, ground my cigarette out on the marble floor, and muttered, “You get Hoynes.”
Ha. Well. We had a blast. Perfect weather, perfect hosts, and I’ll be damned if the trains didn’t run on time. Somehow, even the drive back, in which Supermousey upchucked in three different states, and at least two different timezones, was really pleasant, no traffic, few trucks. We are glad to be home though.
t, Travis Damn Quillen owned the day. Here is a picture that shows his disc actually stuck between two of the wires that make up the basket. Seriously, if you do not think this is difficult, try it standing right next to the basket. It is nearly impossible to fold your disc so that it will fit in that much space. Well, the second thing that brought me to my knees was how this disc came to be there. It was launched from a different zip code. I watched the damn thing leave Travis Damn Quillen’s hand in a blur, then sail off, first gently banking right, then changing direction like a F14 and slamming itself into the basket at 200 mph. It was a once-in-a-lifetime shot.
