Virginia Is For Lovers, But We Went There Anyway...

Deb and I let ourselves be lovers and we've certainly married our fortunes together. And, yes, we did count the cars on the New Jersey Turnpike and did come to look for America. This is a reference to a Simon and Garfunkel song which to my great disappointment, in our relationship, I'm Garfunkel.

The kids and Deb had spring break a couple of weeks ago so we packed up a car and headed south for what was our first real family road trip. Not to say that we haven't traveled as a family, but this was our first real classic family road trip complete with an over-packed vehicle, zero rear view mirror visibility and all of the "Are We There Yet" inquiries to last a lifetime.

I have to say that I had mixed feelings. We were looking at a 16 to 18 hour road trip in total with a stop over in Colonial Williamsburg. I've never driven that long or that far and I wasn't sure how our 15 and 14 year old kids would tolerate being on the road through a good part of the east coast. Would Zachary and Vanessa kill each other? Who would strike first? Would there be collateral damage? When would I lose my patience with Deb's driving instructions and constant directions? Speaking of my own personal driving instructor, for those of you who don't know, Deb has bestowed a Yiddish name upon me. In the Car I'm called, "Shoulda." She says, "Shoulda taken a left, Shoulda slowed down, Shoulda gone the other way, Shoulda gotten gas." To keep things equal, I've given Deb her own special road name. When she refers to me as "Shoulda", I respond with her nick name of "Frey-Cue. " We're so cute.


The first leg of our trip would take us through New England, New York, and New Jersey with our final destination of Williamsburg Virginia. Why Williamsburg you ask? The very first week and maybe our first date, Deb told me that she'd always wanted to go to Colonial Williamsburg. For nineteen years I was able to avoid this but now it was time. Speaking of timing, ours stinks. We waited until our kids became an unamused 15 and 14 before we stole them away from their friends to take them to a town where people lived through hard times and little comfort. "You mean they didn't have wireless, and Hot Pockets?"





Colonial Williamsburg is a special place that offers a glimpse of colonial times and all things revolutionary. You just don't get to see things like that here in New England. You know, places like Strawberry Bank in Portsmouth, Salem Massachusetts, Plimouth Plantation, Sturbridge Village, Lexington, Concord, or that nothing of historical significance town Boston. Don't get me wrong, Colonial Williamsburg is nice, but how many freaking candle stick makers, blacksmiths, and silver smiths can one see in a lifetime? "They used cinnamon, creme of Tartar and licorice root to brush their teeth? Whoa, You're kidding me? You wouldn't happen to have a small pox story in you, would ya buddy?"

Speaking of the blacksmith. I watched in awe as this artisan worked his craft. I took picture after picture as he kept the fire hot and hammered the metal until it started to take its final shape. Intrigued, I begged his pardon and asked what type of treasure he was making. "Nails", he said. Nice.

We walked around the grounds for a while admiring the reconstructed architecture and the authentically dressed reenactors complete with period dress and Ozzy Osbourne tattoos. We eventually got hungry. We stopped by one of the many taverns which didn't seem to sell tavern type drinks, and I was disappointed that I couldn't get a meal of authentic colonial fare. There would be no mutton, and no roast venison, but I could relive ye days of old with an authentic Colonial corn dog and a Puritan Pepsi. No wonder George Washington's teeth were in such rough shape.

Much to the kids' disappointment we left Colonial Williamsburg and headed out for a decent meal. We passed many fine looking establishments because of our desire to keep our family spirit and reach some type of consensus. This strategy led us to not speak to each other, and exasperated I eventually pulled into a decent looking non chain or franchise restaurant. The place was called Jefferson's steak house which was designed to give diners a taste of the past. No, the decor had nothing to do with the 18th century and there were no real references to Jefferson. The connection seemed to be with the diners as most of them had obviously been there at Thomas Jefferson's inauguration ball. I should have went with my instincts and turned us all around, but then I wouldn't have gotten to enjoy the blended sirloin steak which was so good that I was tempted to use a fork, but instead I used a spoon so I could get every drop. We were there for what seemed an eternity each of us watching the Titanic survivors eat their rice pudding and drinking their Manhattans. When our Eugene Levy looking waiter finally brought the bill, we scooted out of there and headed for our hotel. It was only 4:30.

Stay tuned for part two...

Please note that I am embellishing the Hell out of this story but not as much as you'd think. We really did have a great time together. Also, I let Deb read this before I published it. She laughed at a lot of it but mostly at the Garfunkel comment. Maybe I should have brought her to Scarborough Fair...

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