Tales Of Syphilis & Long Hoses

Just in case you wondered ... going to bed at 3:30 am is not conducive to getting up at 7:30 am. I'm tired when we wake, but excited about the day ahead.

Our first stop this morning, to which we are running a teeny bit late (impressive, considering), is Philadelphia's Independence Hall. We push back our entrance time by an hour and decide to inspect Pass and Stowe's attempts to fix the original crack epidemic in the Liberty Bell.

I've taken my meds on an empty stomach, so Adam heads off to get a little something to put in our hungry tummies along with some water. Nothing like feeling like you might throw up on a national treasure.

I've been to Independence Hall before, but find myself as impressed this time with George Washington's "Rising Sun" chair as the last -- particularly the story about what Benjamin Franklin said about it. The mention of Ben launches Grandma into a discussion about his French prostitutes, and me into musings on syphilis.

Charming.

My Philly friend, Heather, fresh back from Australia, picks us up afterward in her convertible for a jaunt to Reading Terminal Market for lunch. We chat as we stroll through the aisles, looking at all manners of meats, poultry and cheese vendors, mixed in with Chinese, Italian and cheese steak stands. While we're talking about what is going on with work, I tell Heather that Grammy was just forced into retirement this year. Really. At nearly 90-years-young, she worked at Nielsen, typing in those diaries people keep when they watch TV. From 4pm to midnight, nonetheless.


 Heather calls her a bad ass, which is so true -- she's pretty amazing.

After a slightly disappointing cheese steak, Heather drops us off at the hotel (the only one we'll stay in on this trip) and we say our goodbyes. As we're packing the car, I remember I've forgotten a special part of this trip.

When I was a little girl, my grandmother used to always have these gorgeous teacups and saucers in the cottage my great grandfather built on Suttons Bay in northern Michigan. I spent a lot of time there growing up. they we're all decorated with tiny delicate flowers and intricate designs. She inherited them from her Aunt Victoria. After World War II, her husband, Uncle Walter's family was left in Russian sector of Berlin, on the eastern side of the Wall. Walter, then living in Pontiac, Michigan, would send things they needed over. As a thank you, they would send care packages back. As they worked in a china factory, one of the things they sent was teacups, saucers and lunch plates. None of them match -- not one set -- which makes each so unique and special in their own way. In time, my mother inherited them, and eventually, this amazing collection came to me. Since we don't have a Flat Stanley with us on this voyage, we're bringing the teacups. We'll take pictures of them along the way.
 

Sadly, today that means by the sign for the highway that will lead us off to NYC. We'll do better next time.

We're off, as my friend Dana would say, like a herd of turtles. But before I say adieu until our next locale, I must tell you one little story.

We pull off the turnpike in New Jersey to fill up the gas tank. It's our only stop in the Garden State, which, incidentally, does NOT smell like a garden. As we pull to the full-service pump, Gram says, "it doesn't matter which side we pull up on -- they all have long hoses."

I wonder, aloud, if she's just making an observation or actually making the statement that pops into my wicked mind.

All it takes is one look to confirm she means the latter.

I tell her she's a dirty little grandma, to which she replies, "Who, me?"

Oy. It's going to be an interesting trip.