Things Remembered

But getting back to the weekend...

Gettysburg is a special place to me for so many reasons.

I have a wonderful education and some of the best friends a person can have, thanks to four years there.

It is beautiful and interesting and filled with history and architecture and things that both of my children like to do.

It was Scott's opinion of the school that put it on my radar in the first place. His parents and his sister and her husband all attended, you might recall.

So while I have made dozens of trips there over the years, and a few since Scott came back into my life, I have never been there with him, and it seems time for the stars to align and for me to reintroduce him to Gettysburg, and let him see it now through my eyes, as opposed to through those of his family who attended, and distant memories of visiting as a child.

Early Saturday, we brew some coffee, wedge our overnight bags into the teensy trunk of Scott's zippy little Miata, slide into the leather bucket seats and take off across the state.

What could be more fun? 

Scott is a fly by the seat of your pants kind of man. I am a planner. He is willing to get up and go at the last minute. A quality I love. I am willing to jump from the couch and fly into action, too, but it is not the way I think to do things.

I am a "Let's get on each other's calendars for Thanksgiving weekend now, so we don't have to worry about it later" kind of gal. I like to know where I am going. Plan to get there. More importantly, plan the outfits. And Scott is a little reluctant to do that, because God Only Knows What Will Be Happening Then. But some reasonably comfortable distance in advance, when he's secure in knowing that he will probably not be dead from a flesh eating virus, or won't have left the country to go surf New Zealand on a whim, he will let me make Non-Refundable Plans. 

So when we finally get on the road, it is great for both of us.

We blow into town early enough to still want more coffee.  We hit Lincoln Diner for a danish and coffees to go.  And soon enough, we are on campus and retracing the footsteps of my younger, wilder, less responsible, more unworried days.  I am pointing out buildings I took classes in. Describing the unique qualities and bizarre eyebrows of favorite professors. Remarking on architectural features that I love and things that have changed since I graduated. Telling little factoids about things such as the library being built facing the wrong way so the sun patio gets no sun. And the story of the piece of modern art that appeared on campus when I was a freshman and was called everything from the fin to the tongue, and a dozen other unseemly things because no one could figure out what it was supposed to be.

We stroll every inch of campus. This is where my underwear was stolen from the laundry. That is the College Union Desk where I worked as a freshman and met everyone because part of my job was to make change for the aforementioned laundry.  There is the infirmary where I was an inpatient for the flu as a junior during sorority rush. That is the cafeteria responsible for my Freshman 10 and my love of grilled cheese sandwiches made by stuffing cheese into a pita pocket and jamming it into the toaster slot. I lived there. I hung out at that fraternity. Wisteria and ivy used to grow over here and all over that.

And then we are off to the Battlefields. The place where I rode my bike for countless miles and the only reason I was not a 600 pound co-ed.  I take him to where the kids and I go. Where we climb. Show him what we've noticed. We eavesdrop on a guided tour being given to some Mid-westerners. It is nice to see that so many people are fascinated with the place.

I am fascinated that I have just stepped on a snake again. I seem to do this often.

Spooked by the snake, I drag Scott from Little Round Top to Devil's Den. We climb rocks and take in magnificent views. We walk over to The Triangle, which is supposed to be totally haunted. The tour guide had said our camera equipment would not work in the triangle, but mine does. I guess Steve Jobs' technology outsmarted the Civil War ghosts after all.

We shop antique shops. We browse lazily. It is so nice to be unrushed and enjoy the time and each other's company. We have a beer here. We get lunch there. We drive and walk and see more sights. We shop some more. We get an address for a Harley Davidson shop nearby.  Scott needs glasses he can wear on his bike. I think Charlie needs a bad ass dog collar. We stop for a beer and Google the directions to the Harley shop.

Before long it is time to check in at the hotel, so we do. And instantly the cool of the room and the comfort of the bed are calling to us, so tired and dirty and worn from the drive and the activity. We take a nap. Just like in college.

An hour or so later, we wake up and plan to head out for the evening. It has gotten a little cooler and the sunset is gorgeous. We want to walk into town and take in some more on foot.

We shower, and while Scott dresses, I begin the spackling and pasting of the face. We are chatting about how nice it is to be here together, considering all the history it hold for us separately and together.

And while we are chatting, Scott interrupts himself. I hear him coming toward the bathroom.

"Look what I found on the floor!"

I turn around. He's holding up a dime.

Seems his Dad is happy that we are here together, too.