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Author Archives: lucysfootball

About lucysfootball

I'm not the girl with the most cake. Someday. SOMEDAY.

Having just finished a vacation, the only thing to do is start planning the next one.

First: no, I am not dead from the evil sickness of death. I actually was able to sleep last night, which was nice. And I’ve gone from hacking up both lungs to just sometimes hacking up one lung. I do have the worst sore throat, but I suppose you can’t have everything, right? Right. Ow, it hurt to say that. Ow ow ow. I DID have to skip out on seeing The Nephew this week because I love him too much to pass along my germs to his little adorable self, because sometimes being a grownup means you have to put others’ well-being before your own happiness. Not ALWAYS, just SOMETIMES. I mean, I’m not a martyr. Being a grownup doesn’t mean you’re ALWAYS selfless. Come on, now. Be practical. I was sad to miss him, though. It’s been too long since I’ve seen him and I miss him very much.

So it seems I am on the mend. This pleases Dad; he was quite sure I was dying. Every day I would call him he would say “ARE YOU STILL ALIVE? WHY WON’T YOU GO TO THE EMERGENCY ROOM? WHY DO YOU WANT TO DIE SO BADLY?” He didn’t seem to understand it’s not often one goes to the ER for a cold. Now that I’m getting a little better, he keeps acting like I’m FOOLING him. “Are you SURE you’re better? Maybe the illness is HIDING. Maybe it’s a FALSE SENSE OF SECURITY,” Dad says, very suspiciously.

What are your symptoms, ma'am? Oh, the common cold? THE HORROR! THE HORROR!

What are your symptoms, ma’am? Oh, the common cold? THE HORROR! THE HORROR!

Nah. I’m ok, Dad. No worries. It’s just a cold. I don’t think it will kill me dead dead dead. Probably.

Second, and a lot more interesting than a health update: EXCITING VACATION NEWS!

Fast on the heels of my LAST vacation, I am already planning my NEXT vacation. Yes, I do actually work sometimes, why do you ask? (New job is going very well. I don’t think it’s technically new job anymore, is it? Since I’ve been there about five and a half months now? Probably not. And yes, it’s still great.) I don’t just plan vacations. I do work, too. Seriously.

Soooooo…

At the end of July, I will be going to visit my parents for a week. I know, this doesn’t sound like it’s super-exciting. But it totally is, for a PLETHORA of reasons. What, you don’t think I will give them to you? I totally will.

  • I get to stay in my parents’ wonderful camp in the woods on a mountain, which is quiet and smells like pine trees and you can pretty much only hear the wind. It’s one of my favorite places in all the world. Also, I totally get to be a firebug and light all the gigantic campfires I want, which means ALL the fires. Dad laughs and laughs at the gigantic fires and my mom says things like, “Do you have the phone number for the fire department on the fridge? Make sure you have the phone number for the fire department on the fridge. Are you SURE it’s there? Maybe you should check, just to be sure.”

    When I see this sign, I start doing a happy dance. This is my park!

    When I see this sign, I start doing a happy dance. This is my park!

  • There is no television at camp. Well, there is A television. But it doesn’t get any channels. You can, however, bring a DVD player or a VCR and watch things. There is also no internet. But, in news of PROGRESS and the FUTURE, if you have Verizon, you can finally get cell phone coverage up there. I totally switched to Verizon just so I could have cell service when I go home. I also was the most proactive and bought one of those Bluetooth keyboard things so it’ll be like I have my laptop, only it’s my cell phone. I know. I’m fancy. So yes, there can be blogging while I’m there, and I won’t have to trek to town to do it. As long as it all works out. Fingers crossed.

    It kind of looks like this. Isn't technology grand?

    It kind of looks like this. Isn’t technology grand?

  • The time NOT spent watching all the television and wasting hours online will be spent reading and reading and reading. That is one of my favorite things about camp. It is quiet and you can read for hours. The main thing I’m planning on reading is the last book in the Song of Ice and Fire series, which I’ve started, but haven’t had the time to finish. Also, a thing that happens at camp is napping. SO MUCH NAPPING. And staying up late. And getting up whenever you want. And eating things you cooked on the grill.

    You know nothing, Lucy's Football!

    You know nothing, Lucy’s Football!

  • Mom and I will be going to see A Streetcar Named Desire at one of my favorite community theaters. She has never seen it. I am very much hoping there will not be graphic sex scenes in this version like in the version I watched a couple of years ago. YIKES. This will make for awkward drive-home conversation and also perhaps she will feel the need to do some praying while in the audience.

    How has Mom gone her whole life without seeing Brando in the movie? SIGH.

    How has Mom gone her whole life without seeing Brando in the movie? SIGH.

  • Dad and I will have some sort of adventure. In the past, we have gone to a wildlife center (to see otters!) and a fish hatchery (to see…well, fish!) and to the movies and to a craft fair and to a museum where there was a whole room dedicated to my famous ancestors. I don’t know the plan this year. I don’t want to be pessimistic, but there’s a good chance we’ve come to the end of things to do in the upstate area. STAY TUNED!
  • There’s a possibility The Nephew might be visiting that week; if he is, ADVENTURES WITH THE NEPHEW!

And now, for the two things that I am MOST excited about for vacation…

MEETING VERY FAMOUS PEOPLE AND/OR CREATURES!

First, you remember who I said I would get to meet if I went home, right?

THAT’S RIGHT! HELPER MULE!

If you are new here, you might not remember Helper Mule, as he was very famous a while ago, (there are more Helper Mule posts, if you search for them) and there has not been much Helper Mule news lately. Helper Mule’s been flying under the radar. I got some strange news from Dad tonight that for some reason, Rooster (Helper Mule’s owner) bought like ten more horses? It’s all very confusing. I will get MORE info when I go home! WE WILL KNOW MORE ABOUT HELPER MULE! I will totally Helper-Mule-whisper him and we will become the best of friends! And of course, I will take ALL THE PHOTOS!

Second, and possibly (ok, fine, definitely, sorry, Helper Mule) more exciting…

…remember I said I was planning another out-of-country jaunt? IT IS TIME!

So I got my passport, and with my passport, I got a little passport card. This card is good for going across more local borders. Like the one into, say, Mexico. But am I going to be near Mexico? No. I am, however, going to be near Canada. RIGHT near it. And who lives in Canada?

LE CLOWN DOES!

(As does Sara, Le Clown’s amazingly talented and awesome wife, and Le Clown’s family. It’s not like he lives there all by himself like a weirdo and his family lives elsewhere. That’d be scary, right? And kind of odd.)

So, on one of the days of my vacation, I am making the trek up to the land of poutine and The Kids in the Hall and we are going to have an old-school hootenanny. Or we’re just going to hang out for the day and chat and talk and laugh a lot. Either way. I can give or take the hootenanny.

INTERNATIONAL TRAVEL, BABY! To meet some of my favorite internettians! It seemed silly to be only about an hour and a half from them and not to visit. Plus I am quite sure we will have most impressive adventures. Also Dad is very sure I will be killed in the traffic. He has NOTHING NICE TO SAY about Canadian drivers. Nothing at all. (However, do we find it at all worrisome he doesn’t think Le Clown is going to psychomurder me? He totally thought poor Andreas was going to psychomurder me. Either Dad’s getting soft in his old age or he’s just utterly given up on me.)

Dad sees a Canadian license plate and gets VERY ANGRY. "GO BACK TO CANADA!" yells Dad. I usually hide my face behind my hand.

Dad sees a Canadian license plate and gets VERY ANGRY. “GO BACK TO CANADA!” yells Dad. I usually hide my face behind my hand.

It is now time for bed. I just watched The Office finale, and it made me cry, mostly because I’ve been watching it from the beginning, and it made me think of the person I was when the show started, and the person I am now, and all the people I’ve been in-between. Also, I kind of totally want a Jim. Can I have a Jim, please? Thanks, universe, you’re the best.

Happy weekend, everyone! I will be working and theatering and all the -ing-ing, I suppose. But I will attempt to stop in and wave briefly, how’s that? Awesome. Love your faces. Have grand adventures, every last one of you.

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A good place to be lonely is the Walmart. Also, the turning down of awards!

In your world it is Thursday. Here, it is Monday. I had every intention to go to work this morning. However, I could not sleep last night. Not even a little. After tossing and turning and coughing up a lung (maybe both lungs) for a few hours, I finally fell asleep, but when the alarm went off, there was no way I could go to work today, because I was stumbling around like a zombie person and I couldn’t open my eyes and I was coughing and coughing and just wanted more sleep. MORE SLEEP. I was like a junkie and the only thing I needed? SLEEP. So I called off from work and went back to bed. And promptly slept for – ready for this? FIVE MORE HOURS. Yes. In total, I slept for about 11 hours last night/today. That is too much sleep. Or maybe just enough, I don’t know. I am attempting, today, to stay awake, in the hope that tonight I will be SO TIRED I can sleep normal hours and go to work tomorrow. I can’t miss MORE work due to a cold. This is ridiculous.

Also, I was supposed to see The Nephew tonight, and because I love him, I decided to cancel that. He doesn’t need my germs. It makes me sad, though. You know I love to hang out with my best little buddy more than almost anything.

So today Dumbcat and I are hanging on the couch watching bad television. I am trying to stay awake. He is not even trying. He’s been asleep all day long. Dammit, Dumbcat, way to be a good companion.

Today I have to mention that I have been nominated for THREE awards and isn’t that fancy? Yes, it is! Well, twice for the same award, but twice is twice, right? Right.

Most of you know my stance on awards. I find it very nice to be nominated, but I can’t accept them. Why can’t I accept them? Because they make you nominate a number of other blogs. And if you nominate other blogs, then you’re leaving some blogs out, and feelings get hurt. And I hate to hurt feelings. I hate to hurt feelings more than I hate to clean the litterbox, and that’s a lot, yo. So, as always, I am very thankful for the awards, and for thinking of me; it is most kind, and most appreciated.

So, the first award I have been nominated for is the Versatile Blogger Award. I feel like I’ve gotten this one before, right? I could go back and look but, well, sick. And kind of lazy. Sorry, world.

First I was nominated by meANXIETYme. Thank you!

Then I was nominated by Kat at Kat’s Den. And thank YOU!

Then I was nominated for the Very Inspiring Blogger award by Andrea at When in New Places. Also, thanks to YOU!

I am supposed to state seven things about myself and then nominate fifteen blogs. Well, I refuse to nominate anyone, as is my wont, and therefore I CANNOT ACCEPT THE AWARDS. Mostly because these things seem like a pyramid scheme, you see. I don’t like pyramids. All triangular like that. Sticking up out of the sand. Being all pointy.

SHADY!

SHADY!

I don’t know if there are seven things about myself you don’t already know, other than the things I’m not going to tell you because they’re mine. Oh, shush, we all get a few things that are ours. You can’t even tell me that you don’t keep some things just for yourself. So instead, here, I will tell you my top seven favorite cities in all the world that I have actually been in with my whole body. Yes, my whole body! Not just my toe.

  1. New York, NY
  2. Rome, Italy
  3. Albany, NY
  4. Sedona, AZ
  5. Santa Barbara, CA
  6. Rouen, France
  7. Baltimore, MD
New York wins! You are not at all surprised by this, are you? Didn't think so.

New York wins! You are not at all surprised by this, are you? Didn’t think so.

There you go. It’s LIKE seven things you didn’t know about me, only in NUMERICAL ORDER. (The top two haven’t changed since 1995. I’m pretty damn predictable.) Do I win going places? Yes. Also, I think it’s a sign I’m in the right place, life-wise, that where I live is in the top three. Because that means there are two places that are like dream vacation spots, but then coming home is in the top three. That’s good, I think.

So, in summation: thank you for the awards, ladies. I am honored and humbled, even though I can’t accept; the fact that I can’t accept is not at all your fault and completely mine. I so appreciate the thought, and give you many internet smooches for the gifting.

Before we go, let’s talk about a super-classy thing that happened here lately. And when I say super-classy, I mean like BEYOND classy. It makes me so proud I can’t even. CAN. NOT. EVEN.

(Props to sj for finding me that most excellent pie chart.)

So, Queensbury is about an hour from me. And in Queensbury, there is a Walmart. I mean, of course there is. Where is there not a Walmart? There’s probably a Walmart in Antarctica for all I know. (In that Walmart they would probably sell a lot of mittens.)

Apparently, you can get more than beef jerky and large boxes of Cheese Nips at the Queensbury Walmart.

Someone called the po-po and said, “You guys? There’s a Walmart employee doin’ the nasty back in the corner of the housewares section.”

Because nothing says "illicit sex" like a ton of flair on a blue vest.

Because nothing says “illicit sex” like a ton of flair on a blue vest.

So I guess one of the Walmart customers offered the employee some cash under the table if he…um…did a naked price-check for him in a corner? And the employee did? And then someone shopping for a new toaster was totally scandalized and was all “OMG MY EYES MY EYESSSSS” and called the cops and to jail the Walmart employee went, hopefully before someone had to call for a cleanup in aisle three.

I don’t know who to feel more pity for in this scenario, honestly. The employee, who is obviously making so little money that he had to take some (probably icky, let’s be honest) customer up on his offer of a quickie BJ in a corner? The customer who, for who-knows-what-reason decided to solicit a most-likely minimum-wage employee for sex at a Walmart? The customer who was going about his or her business and stumbled upon oral pleasure by the dishtowels?

Oh, Queensbury. This isn’t very regal behavior at all. Shame, shame. See, this is why I shop at Target. The most scandalous thing I’ve seen at Target recently is a price-check on some shampoo that was irregularly priced and a customer who was SO PISSED about that.

OK. I’m attempting to go to sleep at like 9pm tonight. Hopefully, by the time you read this, I am healthy and happy. Wise, I don’t know. I think that’s a lot to ask, to be honest. I’ll stick with healthy and happy for now.


On Loss

The art of losing isn’t hard to master; 
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

They say you learn to be better at something, the more you do it. It becomes ingrained; it’s like breathing, or putting one foot in front of the other, or riding the proverbial bike. You learn something, you become quite good at that thing. You’re an old hand.

I don’t know if you ever learn to be good at losing things you love. You learn to be quieter about it, maybe; to not cry and wail in public, to keep the tears inside, to stiff-upper-lip the whole thing. It’s not seemly, you see. Not for adults. Children can cry over such things. Adults need to carry on. It is what we do. Or, at least, what we’re supposed to do.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

I think back on things I’ve lost over the years: a beloved necklace, left behind in a move; a thirteenth-birthday gift, stolen from me on a bus; a lighter, given to me by a loved one, plucked from my pocket without my knowledge. And things less tangible, more esoteric: my heart, my trust, and at times, my mind, over one or the other or both.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

You can move past the loss of things. Things are…things. There will always be more things. You can replace what you’ve lost; if not with the exact thing, then something similar. Our lives are too weighted down with things, anyway. It’s amazing what you can live without, if you must; we can live on a shoestring, if it comes down to it.

It’s the people you lose that haunt you. It’s the people you’ve lost that fly behind your eyelids when you’re trying to sleep; the people you’ve lost, either to something like death, or to something less final, but somehow more painful. People lost to time, to stupidity, to misunderstandings piling up onto one another to make a wall you can never climb, an insurmountable obstacle separating you from where you want to be; people lost to fate, perhaps, if that’s your thing, events set into place long before you even arrived, blinking blindly, on the scene. The things unsaid follow you like lost children, tugging at your hem; the things you might have done to stop this endless numbing empty loss echo in your mind like catcalls down a long hallway.

I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

The boy with the ice-blue eyes and the musician’s hands who disappeared when my back was turned, when I was distracted with other things. The best friend who, behind my back, decided to do everything she could to ruin my life, all while smiling to my face. The poet who, one day, disappeared without a word. The friend who knew me better than anyone and chose a road I couldn’t travel with him, no matter how badly it ripped me in two to watch him go.

Maybe it’s not that you learn how to do something, if you’ve done it over and over, but you learn how best to handle it. You learn not to give all of yourself to someone, because if you put everything you’ve got into someone, and they leave, you’re the one who’s lost. You haven’t just lost them, you’ve lost all you’ve put into them. Every bit of it. And you are empty inside, because you’ve lost that part of yourself; that part of yourself you were with them, the things you did together, knew together; the things you shared with them. You learn to wall yourself over, to protect the parts of yourself you have left. You learn to hold parts of yourself back. And then when you enter into new relationships, you’re afraid to let your real self show ever again, because the last time you did, look what happened. You lost someone. You got lost. There is nothing left. That nothingness, it is vast. And you take it with you wherever you go.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.

And this loss, you are alone in it. There is only so long you are allowed to wallow. There is only so long you are allowed to permissably be sad about losing someone you loved. You are expected to move on.

But what if you can’t? What if days, weeks, months pass, and it’s in everything you do? If you’re reminded of what you’ve lost by something different and new every day, stupid things, words and memories and songs, and you’re blindsided, you sometimes find yourself fighting back tears and you’re so fucking angry at yourself for not following the same timeline of loss that everyone else in the whole damn world seems to be able to follow? What if it’s gotten to the point you can’t even talk to anyone about it anymore, because you know, you just know, you’ve become that person that no one wants to talk to anymore, because you’re insufferable about the whole thing? What then?

It’s not like you could get it back, what you were with that person, even if they were to come back. Things are too irreparably broken. You’re mourning what you were, what you had, what you lost. You know you can’t get it back. So why the hell can’t you move on from it?

—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident
the art of losing’s not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster. 

Eventually, though, you wall everything off. There are parts of you that you’ll never share; those belong to those people you’ve lost, and you’ll never get them back. They’ve taken them with them. You’ve lost them forever, like your necklace, your lighter, that thirteenth birthday present. You become cold and silent. You become so afraid of losing you are afraid to try ever again. You might have learned to lose, but mostly what you learn is to stop trying. Because no matter how many times you do it, losing doesn’t get easier. It’s not riding a bike. It’s not breathing. It’s death. It’s the death of the person you were. And once all those parts of you are dead, what’s left?

No, it’s not hard to master. Anything done over and over again becomes ingrained.

It’s just that what no one tells you is that it’s you that gets lost.

(Poem: “One Art” by Elizabeth Bishop)

I’m leaving comments open on this post, but won’t be replying to them. I don’t know that I could bring myself to do so. This one’s a little too raw for me, folks. So, please know that I will read every one of your comments, and appreciate them wholeheartedly, and that my silence means nothing deeper than me having nothing else left in me to say about this. Thank you.


Welcome to the land of Finns! There are reindeer and nude statues!

Today I had a play to go to, with a ticket in the front row and everything, but I stayed home. This was not an easy decision for me. I’ve been looking forward to this one for months and months. But I’m coughing terribly and I had a front-row seat and that’s rude to people trying to act and sing. Plus even getting up and moving around the house makes me kind of exhausted. Driving half an hour each way, sitting through a three-hour show, trying really hard not to cough…nah. Can’t. Just can’t today. Sadly. So it’s a couch-day and a Dumbcat-day and a TV-day for me.

Today, let’s talk about something near and dear to my heart. And that thing is:

FINLAND!!!

I officially got my passport in the mail a week after I applied for it, so apparently I have been judged as NOT TOO DANGEROUS TO TRAVEL INTERNATIONALLY! That means my trip to Finland is on! Only 14 months to go! Get ready, Andreas and family of Andreas! It’s never too early to start planning an adventure!

There have been a number of fun Finland-related things that have come across my radar lately, so today let’s discuss some fun Finland-things.

First: Finland wins a VERY IMPORTANT HONOR!

According to this very annoying link that will start a loud obnoxious video on your computer so beware, Finland is the world’s best place to be a mother! In the whole WORLD! Well, THAT’S impressive! Apparently, expectant and new mothers are given much care in the land of the Finns, and the infant mortality rate is very low, so Finland wins the competition! Congratulations, Finland, for being impressive! On Saturday Night Live this weekend, Seth Meyers had a smart joke that said “Finland has recently been found as the world’s best place to be a mother. The world’s worst place to be a mother? High school.” Hee! I like that.

Next, we have very good graphics from the most impressive sj!

OMG YOU GUYS! POLICE REINDEER! How much do I want a police reindeer? THE MOST IS HOW MUCH! I don’t know if this is true facts or not, but I love it anyway. I mean, think about it. What would you do with a police reindeer? I don’t know that you could ride it. And it’s not like a drug-sniffing dog or anything. I mean, MAYBE it could sniff drugs, but what a mess it would make clip-clopping through your house, right? But whether it is a thing or not, I WANT ONE. Look how much it loves the Finnish policeman! It totally wants him to rub its nose. And ride with him on his Skidoo. Probably in Finland they don’t call them Skidoos. The internet says Finns call them “moottorikelkka” or if they’re speaking Swedish they call them “snöskoters.” OMG THOSE ARE BOTH MOST EXCELLENT WORDS! The Finnish word has WAY too many letters in it, and the Swedish word sounds EXACTLY like “snow scooter” which makes me smile and then smile some more.

Aw, no, poor Finland!

Finally, we have the MOST interesting thing. OK, so a couple of weeks ago, Andreas had the day off because it was Walpurgis Night. This is known as May Day in Merka. And we most certainly don’t get the day off, sigh sigh. ANYWAY, in Finland, here is what happens on Walpurgis Night:

  • Much mead is consumed
  • Many funnel cakes are consumed
  • There is much celebrating, some of it in the streets
  • Someone puts a cap on a nude statue in Helsinki
  • “Left-wing activists of the 1970s still party on May Day. They arrange carnivals. And radio stations play leftist songs from the 1970s.” WHAT? That makes me laugh. It would make Dad VERY ANGRY, though, and he would shout “SOCIALISTS!!!”

This all makes me happy. This is a very happy pagan celebration, dating back to Beltane. We don’t do things like that here. Sometimes children might do a Maypole (not a euphemism) in school, but only when a teacher can’t think of something better to do, and I’d be willing to bet most of the teachers don’t know the history behind what they’re doing.

You GUYS, in FINLAND, they have a day off where they drink HOMEMADE MEAD, they eat FRIED DOUGH, and they (for some reason) put HATS on NAKED STATUES. This is a most excellent country. MOST excellent. I can’t even find anything to complain about in this tradition.  We don’t have another day off until Memorial Day and that’s still a couple weeks away. Europe gets a lot more excellent days off than we do, that’s for sure.

MANY HAPPY THINGS IN FINLAND!

OK, it is the middle of the day but my eyes are closing so it’s naptime even though I’m usually terrible at naps. Happy Monday to you all. May your weeks be both productive AND pleasurable. Plus, I wish you all funnel cakes. I mean, don’t we all deserve more funnel cakes in our lives? I think most definitely we do. No question.


Many and many a year ago, in a kingdom by the sea: Adventures in Baltimore, Part Four

OK, I’m super-sick, but I am determined to soldier on. I AM A BRAVE LITTLE TOASTER. I went to a play tonight and now I am home and feel like utter crap but at least I feel like crap on my couch. That’s the best place to feel like crap, probably. Or your bed. Your bed is also a good place to feel like crap. Preferably with a Dumbcat curled up purring next to you because Dumbcats make you feel better when you are coughing and feverish. Or at least they try to.

And, before I get started, happiest of all happy Mother’s Days to all the mothers who are reading. This is all-inclusive and includes everyone who does mothering, even those who haven’t birthed an actual child through their actual birth canal in an ouchy-ouchy way. So, all mothers of all things, and people who adopt, and same-sex couples, and dads who single-parent, and moms who have lost children, and anyone else I might be forgetting  - you are all wished the happiest of days from me and I celebrate every one of you. All the love to all of you. Amy’s Mom received so many roses this year and was so surprised because I could never afford that before, and they are in many places in her house and I got a “YOU ARE THE BEST DAUGHTER!” so that was a total Mother’s Day win in Amy-land.

So, now we are on to our last day in Baltimore, which was Sunday. We decided to not do a billion things on the last day, mostly because we were very tired. Well, at least I was. And R. and A. were nice enough to agree they were as well, whether or not they REALLY were. We did so many things! It was time for a little calmness.

Our trip Sunday was to something MERKAN! And NATIONAL! And PATRIOTIC! Any guesses?

Fort McHenry!

Now maybe you don’t know about Fort McHenry. I didn’t know about it. Other than it was something Merkan. Here are some bullet-points about Fort McHenry if, like me, your school was sadly lacking in good American History classes (or perhaps you kind of had a little crush on your American History teacher so you spent time daydreaming about him and not paying as much attention as you should have, I don’t know your life):

  • It is three things: a National Park, a National monument, and a historic shrine
  • It was an actual fort in the war of 1812
  • It defended against a British attack in Baltimore harbor in 1814 (were you aware the war of 1812 was so LONG? I wasn’t)
  • While watching the battle, a Washington lawyer was so impressed by the fact that the men at the fort held off the British and that the American flag stayed flying the whole night through, he was inspired to write a song. What do you think the lawyer’s name was? Well, it was Mr. Francis Scott Key. And that song was the “Star Spangled Banner.” BAM, MOFOS!

Yes! This is the actual place that inspired our NATIONAL ANTHEM! MERKAN HISTORY, YOU GUYS!

Now, I feel the need to give you a disclaimer. I know I kind of bag on Merka. Mostly by calling it Merka. And shaking my head at things that happen here in Merka, like Truck Nutz and Fox News. But here’s a huge secret, that, ironically, will not be a huge secret once I tell you: I love Merka. So much. I am so jazzed by the history of my country. It makes me have goosebumps. It makes my whole heart thrill. I love the thought of my scrappy forefathers who believed so strongly in our country holding off against the British. I love the national anthem. I love history and battles and monuments and things that made our country great. I think our country could still be great. I believe a great deal in our country, and it makes me sad, what it’s become. Dad finds this fierce patriotism of mine funny. “For someone who’s part of the enemy’s team, you really do love our country,” he says. (The enemy’s team = Democrats.) “You might be the only Dumb-o-crat who actually loves America. So that means you’re not really a Dumb-o-crat and you’re just confused. Any day now you’ll come over to the right side.”

First we walked all around the fort. Guess what I stood on? NO, GUESS!

THE RAMPARTS! The ACTUAL “o’er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly streaming!” I WAS ON THE RAMPARTS!

There were many cannons. This whole place was surrounded by cannons. ALL THE CANNONS. I wanted to ride on a cannon because that seemed very Merkan, and we even found one cannon that didn’t say “Don’t climb on this, Amy” but it was kind of rusty and I was afraid I’d get my pants dirty.

This is the view when you’re walking around the Fort. It’s beautiful. The bay is right there and you can see all the boats. It was a little chilly and windy, but that’s what happens when there’s water.

I kind of forgot to take enough photos. Luckily, A. took some photos and he’s GOOD, you guys. Like, artistic-good. He said I could steal. I’m giving credit, so it’s not as much STEALING as it is kind of borrowing, I suppose.

Look, he has this awesome setting on his camera where he can take a bunch of photos and make them into ONE LONG PHOTO!  Isn’t this so pretty?

So we walked all around, then we went INTO the fort, and you could go into some of the rooms. One of them had teeny-tiny cells in it where TRAITORS were kept. Traitors, you guys! Here is an interesting historical tidbit. During the Civil War, one of the traitors kept there was Francis Scott Key’s grandson. He was an editor of the Baltimore Sun, and he wrote an editorial that said although he didn’t approve of the South’s decision to secede from the Union, he didn’t think we should use military force to get them back, and he also criticized the Lincoln administration. WELL! That did not sit well with the powers that be, and they not only locked him up, they shut down the whole paper. SHUT DOWN THE WHOLE PAPER! See, civil liberties were limited during the Civil War. Anyone could be jailed if they were accused of disloyalty or treason, without a trial; martial law was put in place; censorship of journalists and papers was the norm. Doesn’t this scare the shit out of you? It does me. I had no idea about any of this.

Look, I was making history today by visiting the fort! MERKAN HISTORY!!!

There were things in the different rooms like exhibits and tableaus and various things. There was a big flag that was a recreation of the actual flag that inspired the national anthem. It was all very historic and I liked it all very much.

Then we had a picnic! With baby CeeVee!

It was her first picnic. As you can see, she enjoyed it a great deal. That’s A. in the background. I think this is the only photo of A. I got the whole time I was there. But look, he does exist!

CeeVee and I played a game called “Grass is the best!” in which she would pull up all the grass and then hand it to me, and I would say, “Oh! Thank you!” and she would laugh and laugh and give me MORE grass. Grass is her favorite. Even better than grass? Dandelions. She LOVED dandelions. R. told her not to eat the dandelions, and then she picked another one and almost ate it, and then looked at it very sternly and said, “NO” to it, which made ME laugh and laugh.

Dandelions are the BEST! (And A. is the best photographer, isn't he?)

Dandelions are the BEST! (And A. is the best photographer, isn’t he?)

Seriously, she's the best thing. Look at that smile.

Seriously, she’s the best thing. Look at that smile.

Then she decided to go adventuring and did an homage to a famous painting.

Wyeth’s version…

…and the Baby CeeVee version…

I like CeeVee’s version better, but I’m biased.

Then we went to the gift shop, where you could buy things like weaponry and muskets and swords (I didn’t buy those things, I mean, would they even let me bring them on the train?) and then we went on a long long looooong tour of Baltimore and A. and R. showed me a lot of beautiful buildings that I hadn’t seen yet. Dear Baltimore, I am very much in love with you. You are just the most beautiful city full of endless wonder. I am looking forward to returning.

Oh, a thing I noticed in Baltimore that made R. laugh because I kept noticing it was very brightly colored pants. Like, RED! or GREEN! and I think they were jeans. Is that a thing? I don’t know that that’s a thing around here. Whenever I saw them I would stop what I was doing and say “MORE BRIGHTLY COLORED PANTS!” and R. would laugh. The first time I did it, R. said, “You are the most random person I know, Amy.” And yes. Yes, I sometimes am that. But in my defense, those pants were VERY brightly colored.

Then we spent the rest of the day relaxing and I did some internetting and we ate some delicious Chinese delivery and talked and laughed and R.’s friend stopped over to visit for a little while, and that was nice, and then we watched a little television and then it was bedtime, because the next morning was early early early departure for the train.

Then the next morning it was goodbye to R. and Baby CeeVee so R. could get to work and CeeVee could get to daycare! (And since I left? CeeVee is WALKING now! I knew while I was there she was so, so close! SHE IS WALKING HOORAY!) And then A. brought me to the train station, and it was time to make my way back home to my very lonely Dumbcat who thought I was dead and was SO pleased I was not.

The trip home was mostly uneventful. At one point I fell asleep and I think I might have snored, as I do, because when I woke up I had post-snore sore throat and people were looking at me like I was a crazy-person. Sheesh, calm down, it’s not like I was in the SILENT car. It was just the NORMAL car. And in the New York waiting area (which is in Penn Station, and Dad calls that “Grand Central Penn Station”, as in “Don’t go getting murdered in Grand Central Penn Station, Amy, people get murdered in that Grand Central Penn Station all the time!”) some sort of cop was hitting on me until I pretended I was furiously reading so he stopped talking to me. Explain, please, why it is that no one in the history of my whole life has ever randomly hit on me that I’ve been in the least bit attracted to?

Thank you for sticking around for Adventures in Baltimore! It was the best time and I’m so glad I got to go and see some of my most beloved people. Thank you so much, R. and A., for being the best hosts! Now it is time for this sickie sickerson to go to bed and sleep like the dead. Or at least like a person with a weird feverish sickness. Happy weekend, everyone!


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