It Continues

You know, there's just too much going on.

Dishrag Tag started August 1st. Our team captain/first-tagged got sick so we are behind, but unbowed. You're rooting for Disparate Knitters (I named the team. Which sounds good until you realize there were no other suggestions). Keep you're eye on the sidebar.

Red Scarf 2008 has begun. It's official because Norma has put up the website for this year.

And I know you are all waiting with baited breath for today's installment of the forced march trip through Virginia.

Well. There was the thunderstorm that followed us from Pennsylvania and opened the heavens right when we got to Arlington National Cemetery. I balked at being a lightning casualty, so himself let us take the tour bus rather than covering the Cemetery on foot. For these few small mercies, much thanks.

The storm decided it was so fond of us, it needed to follow us down to Williamsburg. Truly spectacular. I'd never seen purple lightning before. I must confess, however, I would have preferred to see it from someplace safer than a car driving down Virginia's only interstate. Some smarter people might have used it as an excuse to stop for lunch, or maybe, as the day wore on, even dinner. Not us. Found a gas station, dinner and the cottage right about the time the storm finally relented, around 9 PM.

Still fired with purpose (or something), the next day we headed out to Colonial Williamsburg (this is a very cool link, you should click it ). We looked like Make Way for Ducklings, Marc taking the role of Mrs. Mallard and the 4 of us strung along behind. Although I didn't know it at the time, as we stumped and straggled in the 90 degree F heat from the Capitol Building along the Length of Duke of Gloucester Street, past the Magazine, Guard House, Chownings Tavern, and Colonial Punishment (read Stocks and Pillory) to the Court House, a new American revolution was brewing.

It erupted Tuesday when Marc tried to get us onto a boat tour of Chesapeake Bay complete with Norfolk Naval Base. A. 3. Hour. Tour. Clare and I opted for the chance to stroll through Williamsburg.

The members of the male persuasion managed to get down to Hampton. They even got on board. Then Marco realized what was up and broke for it. There was no getting him back.

Some parents (like me) would have taken this as an indication that he was all funned out. Marc decided to bring the boys back to Colonial Williamsburg. Near as Clare and I can figure out, they spent the afternoon about 1/2 a block behind/around/about us.

The revolution continued Wednesday, but that's tomorrow's post.