The Eastcoast Jam, Day 8, where we do nothing.

Spent the day with the Amicks, our minor-celebrity friends who run a Chick-fil-A. We don't actually like them that much, but the opportunity for a comp'd meal at CFA is worth the visit. Special requested a Spicy CFA grilled, which was fabulous.


On a lighter caloried note, we hiked the the Underground Railroad Experience Trail, which was both beautiful and a learning experience for the kids.

• Elizabeth: "Mr. Eric, what exactly is the underground railroad?"
• Dad, interrupting to answer: "Eliza, they didn't build an actual railroad underground. There's nothing under the dirt."
• Elizabeth, "I know that, dad! Was this an actual place the slaves went?!?"
• Dad, losing his air of superiority, "I don't know, go ask your mother."

Underground RR Experience Trail

The Eastcoast Jam, Day 7

I am an Evolutionary Global Warming agnostic.
Given my place in life, surrounded by those of faith and science, this lack of position frustrates everyone, an unintended, if not slightly amusing, consequence.
The Smithsonian Museum of Natural History, however, is a died-in-the-wool evangelist on these matters. This doesn't particularly surprise me, and as someone who has spent countless unnecessary hours over the past 20 years reading and thinking through these matters, the fabulous, wonderful and breathtaking museum has minimally affects my thoughts on the established fact -vs- theory of macro-evolution and anthropocentric cause of changes on earth. What I noticed within the museum (overwhelmingly noticed) is its clear sales pitch on these two issues.
Hundreds of thousands of people traverse these corridors yearly, people who are ready to absorb the message and well-earned prestige of this museum. In these battles (for the hearts, minds and dollars of the masses), message and presentation matter. The Smithsonian Museum of Natural History has oriented a substantial portion of its influence to proselytize for these two issues, a term consciously used to communicate how it felt to be there.
As a parent who recognizes the lack of sincerity on both sides of these two arguments, I am challenged to try and create a reasonable presentation of these issues for my 7, 8, 10 and 12 year-olds. Summarize while encouraging their critical thinking on difficult issues. I am at odds doing so.

We had a great day in DC, and will be back. On a lighter note:

from D.C.

The Eastcoast Jam, Day 6 (an honourable time)

Spent the day at Gettysbrg National Military Park and National Cemetery in Pennsylvania.
It was a valuable day for all, including the kids, who did remarkably well, considering the lack of electricity, motion pictures, sugar, or general organization. We walked, gawked, ventured, and enjoyed the enormity of the place. We climbed over, under, through Devil's Den, a boulder field where dozens of men fought hand to hand to take, lose, and retake this position. Many died here 150 years ago, while for my kids, it was a playground of dreams: boulders, caves, crevasses, places to hide and seek. It was a joy to watch them.

The Home of a Rebel Sharpshooter, by Timothy O'Sullivan

For Maggie and I, this day carried more solemn thoughts; but the kids simple and innocent enjoyment of the day, of the freedom, unity and enduring legacy made possible by a generation who gave up their hopes and dreams to help secure ours, the kids innocence is a tribute to this place, ensuring that these men did not die in vain.


We finished the day out with a meal at Hofbrauhaus in Abbotstown:

• Pulling in at 5:06pm, we assumed we would fully beat the evening crowd. As table after table of folks came pouring in with us, we were found wrong. I'm not saying anything in particular, I'll just state that the cumulative ages of the 6 Bowlings was not near the average age of the rest of the diners.
• The first thing you notice when entering Hofbrauhaus (say that fast 3 times while patting your belly) is that it smells like my Mama's house from when I was a kid. I'm pretty sure it smells like your Mama's house too. And yours' too. 
• While there were various long names with lots of consonants littering the menu, you essentially are served sausages and thinly sliced, lightly fried meats. 

In the 20 minute drive home, we were hit by a train wreck of exhaustion. As Garrett succinctly put it, "Guys, it's like 10 o'clock or something." It was 7:10, but I may have failed to correct them. Rather, we let them venture straight to bed. On that note, goodnight.

The Eastcoast Jam, Day 5

Happy to say that this was as nice a day as could be expected for a family of 6 in a single vehicle. Started out in Las Viagara, headed to Old Fort Niagara, where the Brits strung up the Frogs in and around 1759, then drove through some of the prettiest country I've ever experienced in western NY and PA. It was a wonderfully scenic drive, with golden and orange leaves covering the 350 miles.
Passed through Williamsport, PA, home of the Little League World Series. While I considered a stop at the museum, I was told "No" by the Mrs, I decided against it.

We're staying near Gettysburg, where we will do our best to string the kids along, while soaking in the solemn power of the place: for 3 days 160,000 clashed with 50,000 casualties, a turning point in the war, a turning point in the history of western civilization, and the catalyst for one of the most enduring collection of words crafted by man.

On a lighter note, we are in a 2-room cabin with the kids bunking in the back room (as opposed to sharing a single hotel room). We were looking forward to a bit of fermented ale. However, after stopping at a couple of gas stations in town which failed to carry such items, we have been forced to spend the evening drowning our proverbial sorrows into our blog posting. Apparently, in a fit of regulation, PA doesn't sell alcohol in convenience stores. That seems to prevent fulfillment of said nomenclature.

Conversations between modern Baptists:
Baptist_A: "You mentioned beer in one of your posts. So... you drink?"
Baptist_B: "I have a beer every once in a while (or maybe more, but that's none of your business, and who's counting anyway). And (feeling a surge of righteous independence that propels one to excessive explanations) I like red wine sometimes, but not white; it gives me a headache." (We'll leave out the bottle of Scotch and Margarita mix in the cabinet over the refrigerator).
Baptist_A: Noticing an ounce or three of defensiveness, "Oh, of course, No problem. I don't mind, I just never go into it."
Baptist_B rambles on: "I mean, I drink, but I don't (air quote) 'DRINK'. I'm not an alcoholic. I just have 1-2 every once in a while. I don't get drunk... you can have a drink or two without getting drunk... I don't even notice the effects of the alcohol."
Baptist_A: Enjoying the exasperated explanations of his recently-outed drunk friend while pretending he never intended to cause them.
Baptist_C: walking up, "What are you two talking about?"
Baptists_A&B: "Baseball"

Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.

Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battle-field of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.

But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate -- we can not consecrate -- we can not hallow -- this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us -- that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion -- that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain -- that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom -- and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.

The Eastcoast Jam, Day 4 (where things turn sour)

Today would be Day 4 of the adventure (for those of you just tuning in, you can either keep track of how many days we've been on this trip by use of the Gregorian calendar, or by the title of the blog post, whichever you find more convenient).
Today would be the day where Jack Arnold made his appearance.
Things Jack had to deal with today, a few of the many examples (I will change the individual kids names to protect the innocent minors):

At one point point in the day Jarrett (wink, wink) asks his mother, "How many days have we been gone?" "What do you think?" she responds. He guesses a random number, at which point mom asks, "Would you rather guess or think it through?" (rookie mistake). "Mom, I'm not in school now. I don't want to do my maths."

Afternoon rest time, where we all take turns showering and having some down-time in the hotel room. Maliza (not her real name), locks herself in the shower, runs herself a bath, and proceeds to pretend she can't quite hear her mother screaming "Get OUT of the bath! People are W A I T I N G ! "

When she finally does make an exit, and is inches away from being skinned by her mother, Jarrett turns to Lois and asks, "Where's Eliza?". Apparently, he had lost her in this 315 square foot palace.

Upon completion of our walk through town, down to the falls, along the falls, strolling and racing and taking pictures, Lois turns to Norma and asks "Is that supposed to be a park?" 

At the point where I almost cracked (well, maybe a few moments after I had started to crack), I stopped to think of people I could ask to pray for us in this adventure. Wise, sagely parents who understood and could offer us support. And then, in a fit of rare insight, I realized I myself could pray for patience, wisdom, grace and love for a series of people who are driving me nutty. God just might listen to me.

I would like to think that the last few hours of the day were more tender and graceful, regardless of the maturity of the children in tow. God is better than I deserve.

The Eastcoast Jam, Day 3

The original Eastcoast Jam was actually the Mountain Time Zone Swing: hitting the 4-corners. This was derailed by some unanticipated park closures, so we improvised.
While I was less than excited going into this northern adventure, my kids were ecstatic: We're going to CANADA! 
I warned them of the pitfalls of Canada: Martin Short, the national anthem and that they don't celebrate the 4th of July. It didn't matter; they wanted to visit another country, even one where the only reason you knew you were in another country was the minor grilling we received when crossing the border.
Observations:

1. Niagara Falls, Ontario is a hole. It might actually be the hole at the bottom of the sea. I've spent 12+ years of parenthood giving my children better, deeper, more substantive, less tacky life-experiences... only to be undone by this place. 24 hours here and I long for the simple, classy life of Downtown Disney, where everybody knows your name. 
2. Elizabeth: "I like these little stores." (speaking of the long strip of gift junk shops lining all pavements in a 1 mile (1.6km) radius. "Canadians must be very proud. Everything in their stores is covered in their flag." For years to come, her perspective on the life of a typical Canadian will include $2.99 t-shirts with various maple leafs and polar bears on them. 
3. The Bowling's purposefully dined at a fast food place at lunch, after being overwhelmed at the food prices. For dinner, we were joyful to walk out for <$80 at a non-wait staff establishment with no alcohol. 

The falls were nice; a once-in-a-lifetime experience. We loved them, and let their effects substitute for the day's showers. 

The Eastcoast Jam, Day 2

Here we are in Barkeyville, PA. I know, I know, you are just as surprised as we are that we were able to fit this extra stop in on our vacation. A little morsel of western PA.
When one has 4 kids (traveling 6 altogether), staying in a hotel is a challenge. One cannot lawfully sleep more than 4 per typical room. You must rummage around looking for a suite, or stay in KOA Kamper Kabins, as we have taken to doing.
The one unplanned night of the trip had us in Pittsburgh this evening, city 58.2 square miles, 306,211 people, 3.3 million metropolitan. We didn't make a reservation, confident we could find a room. 
As you can guess, with this particular post coming from Barkeyville, we were about 80 miles wrong. Who knew that Pittsburgh was so indelibly popular, dare we say, "sold out"?
2 hours of driving, searching hotels.com, expedia.com, franticallydesparateinPA.com, and as many phone calls as can be made on the Sprint network in a rural portion of our great land, and we had nada.
If one is trying to raise honest kids, not letting them witness the bald-face lying of their parents, then you get a Suite, for the 5% of hotels that have them.
Or, after 10pm, after hours of effort, you tell 2 of them to squat down in the car as you pull up to the hotel, so the check-in lady doesn't see how many we have. You ask for a room for the Mrs. and the 2 little ones, then you sneak around the back, conspicuously carrying 2 sleeping bags, 2 sleeping pads, 2 pillows and 2 layers of bribery for whichever 2 kids volunteer to sleep on the floor.
You will be able to spot us in the morning as the parent carrying 6 waffles, orange juices, and sausages out of the continental breakfast bar so we can eat in our room.
Goodnight, and good luck.

The Eastcoast Jam, Day 1

Our first stop, after the two previous stops, where I was initially thwarted in my attempt to purchase a box, but then found a box at my second stop, neither of which count as stops, so please ignore them...
Our first stop was McKay's Used Books in Chattanooga, TN: a Bowling favourite.
While I stayed in the parking lot tooling around with my new box, the four were each allotted $5 (not including tax; they're not that good at math yet) for whatever books they wanted. Or, in Louise's case, whatever books we could agree on (she's not quite ready for VC Andrews, regardless of what she may think. Cannot read those books until she's 11).
This should get us at least 1-2 hours of backseat quietude.