Four Score and Seven Years Ago, Well, Not Actually

That near crisis averted, I set my sights on Spring Break with the kids.

They will spend the first part of the week with Lars, very likely doing nothing of value or interest, and then return to me on Wednesday evening. The following morning we embark on a trip to Gettysburg. We have not been there in nearly two years; the last trip being as a convenient excuse to be out of town and otherwise detained while J.'s idiot niece and her fat fiancé got married at the Event of the Season (at least for a few dozen additional idiots) to which I had been extended an invitation and my children had not. (And thus, a blog was born!)

The last time we went, we'd enjoyed a Ghost Tour (Gettysburg is famous for them, and Hil is a big enthusiast) and taken a guided bus tour of the Battlefields (a prime interest of Pat's). Our little hotel was next to General Lee's headquarters and purported to be haunted, all of which thrilled the kids. It was also attached to a lovely little independent brew pub, which was a delight to Mommy.

But it was a little off the beaten path and had only an outdoor pool. This time, I wanted to get closer to town and stay in a hotel with an indoor pool so the kids could burn off the pent up energy. I am always baffled by the pent up energy thing. My energy depletes as the day wears on. Theirs takes on a life of its own.

So Thursday morning, after careful packing and a trip to get Easter hair cuts (Hil's plans to get the much hyped hot pink streak foiled by the fact that the salon ran out of hot pink, how unfortunate!) we pile into the car. With our bags and our stash of in-room snackable items.

The kids are thrilled to be going and so am I. I had made one additional return to Gettysburg since our trip together, to attend my 25th reunion. How different this trip would be. Far less reminiscing. Far less drinking. Far fewer realizations about how far we've all come and how similar we all remain to one another. I'd found myself all those years ago at GBurg, and found dozens and dozens of people who found me too, and found that I am just fine. Why it took me so long to find that out remains a mystery.

An astonishing amount of time later, thanks to an accident just beyond our entrance to the Turnpike, we pull into the parking lot of our our hotel. OK it is a little further out of town than it had appeared to be on the map. The trade off, however, is it is adjacent to a large OUTLET MALL!

Oh if only the outlet mall had been here when I was in school! I would have walked here! There were so few spending opportunities at that time (bars with lax rules about checking IDs notwithstanding) a clothing store of any kind would have been an oasis. Consider the fact that when I was a junior and a weirdo was evidently breaking into apartments all over town and stealing (get this) all the girls' underwear and their photo albums (All together now, "Eeeeewwwwwww!) and either a copycat or someone desperate for panties came into the laundry room at the dorm and stole every pair of my panties, and only my panties from the dryer, and left everything else to tumble around for the rest of the cycle, leaving me with just the pair I had on (and it being finals week, they were the dregs of the meager collection) and I had to use my Mothers Day gift and card money to buy new ones, and I could not find a single shop from which to purchase anything but Granny Panties. And outlet mall would have been a life saver. but I digress...

The kids and I check in and immediately head into town. We'll get a late lunch and then do some souvenir shopping. Hil has her eye on the Ghost Hunting Museum shop and Pat wants to return to the General Store to buy a replica Civil War rifle against his mother's better judgement.

It feels good to be here. In this familiar place. In the place that has so much meaning to me. And to Scott. If not for Scott, whose parents and sister all attended GBurg like I did, I may never have heard of the school. Might never have considered it. Might just as easily gone off to Emerson or Washington and Jefferson or William and Mary as I'd once anticipated. But Scott had spoken so highly of the place when I was an impressionable gal of 15. And he held such respect for his parents and sister, who seemed so mysterious and magical to me. He'd figuratively placed the school on my map. Placed it within my reach. And set it as something to aspire toward.

And now, more so than ever, as I drive through the place I'd once only traveled through on foot, I feel like I've come home.