Events of Sunday, December 26, 2010

            This morning I walked around the neighborhood and watched light fluffy snowflakes drift from the sky. My waterproof clothes kept my body dry, but my face got wet from the big snowflakes, and that turned cold quickly. So I returned to our rented home here in Williamsburg. My parents and sister were still asleep when the rest of us got dressed and ate breakfast. We departed about 9, the six of us, agreeing to keep our cell phone on and rendezvous with the others when they arrived at the Colonial Williamsburg.

            It was surprisingly easy to drive the RV in five inches of snow. The roads were not plowed, but the warm temperature made the bottom layer slushy. So we were all surprised to find the visitor parking lot had only four vehicles. We walked to the Information Center, where a hostess warmly welcomed us and offered to answer our questions. We already knew where we wanted to start our visit, so we hopped on the free shuttle. We hopped off at the Capitol stop, and I noticed that we were right next to the Presbyterian meetinghouse. We had not planned to attend church this morning, but this seemed so convenient that we decided to investigate. We found the doors open, and therefore the interior was quite chilly. A dozen benches provided seating for perhaps 80 members, but we were the only ones there. As we started to read the informational placard, a deep recorded voice introduced himself as Patrick Henry, one of the historical church members. Other voices quoted typical prayers and sermons. Henry shared that he liked the Presbyterian Church because they encourage a more personal relationship with God. Wow! What a great summary and reminder for this morning: our spiritual life does not depend on some church rite but rather on our real faith in a real God as we live our real lives.

            After this visit, we walked across the street to the Powell House. There we learned that Mr. Powell was an architect, builder, and undertaker. By this last term, they did not mean someone who prepares corpses for burial, but rather one who undertakes a contract for construction (what we today would call a General Contractor). He in turn would hire other specialists and laborers to complete the job. In this way, he acquired much wealth and property. The exhibits and presentations there aimed at the kids. They had a room of “diversions” like checkers, chess, mancala, and a word game like Boggle. The next room had a collection of blacklines for coloring with crayons. If the weather had not been so snowy (and therefore kept other staff from arriving at their assigned posts), we would also have learned there about table manners and preparations for a wedding dinner.

            Next we visited the “gaol” (jail). We thought we were in the wrong place when we entered, for it looked like a home. And indeed, our resident guide explained, it was the home of the jail keeper. At the back of the house were the jail cells, which housed those accused of felons. Our slow-speaking guide informed us that about half of the residents were convicted, and that the most common penalty for felonies was hanging. However, most convicts were not hanged. Instead they received the “mercy penalty”: a brand in the palm of the hand. For murder, they would receive an “M” brand and for theft they would receive the “T”. Such mercy penalties were for first-time offenders. Repeat offenders were usually hanged. I wonder if they have data about the rate of recidivism from that period of history.

            Nearby was the coffeehouse where yesterday we had seen chilly visitors enjoying free liquid samples. So we looked forward to a pleasant time of conversation and refreshment. Our experience was quite the opposite. After several minutes waiting on the cold front porch, we were ushered into a waiting room. There a woman had Abby sit near her at a table, then she played a card game by herself and quietly insulted us for our social ineptitude (i.e., we were politely listening to her rantings rather than joining her in them). After a few awkward minutes there, she led us into the coffeehouse proper. A costumed man served us each a tiny serving of warm coffee, tea, or chocolate. (The coffee was nothing special. Pam added cream to her hot chocolate and that was just right: thick with a dark chocolate taste. The girls found it too bitter.) Meanwhile, an abrasive woman lectured and berated us for our foolishness and ignorance. She boasted of her superiority as a Virginian and scoffed at us for asking honest questions about the period. Then she announced it was “time for coin”; when she saw none attempt to pay for our beverage, she ordered us all: “Leave now. I mean it. Leave.” We were happy to exit.

            At the cabinet-maker’s house, we met up with my parents and sister. The costumed docent deftly fielded all of our questions. Quite knowledgeable and articulate, we spent nearly an hour there. Then we walked to the RV and made lunch. Our leftover Christmas ham made some delicious sandwiches. Then we headed back to catch the shuttle. We had hoped to reach the Museum by 3:30 for a brass quintet. We finally arrived about ten minutes late, and the ticket agent whisked us downstairs to the theater. At the door, she asked for our tickets, which we had not bought yet. She shooed us into the theater anyway. We heard the Eastern Virginia Brass Quintet play an hour of holiday music, including many arrangements that we found quite enjoyable. The ensemble had its strengths and weaknesses, as did the performance hall. After the performance we returned to the gal at the ticket counter. There I explained that we had wooshed downstairs for the brass concert without tickets. She asked whether they had let us in, and I said yes, they had. Well, then we need not worry about tickets, she replied. We grateful received her generosity and wished her a merry Christmas.

            We took the shuttle back and walked to our RV, which now had another four inches of snow. Again, I was surprised to find how well the RV handled the snowy roads. We got home and unloaded our lunch stuff. Then the kids went to the snowy backyard, where they enjoyed some free time in the snow. They threw snowballs, made snow angels, removed icicles, and constructed snow forts. For dinner we enjoyed lasagna and other pasta creations. After dinner, my sister Jennifer led us in a family game of her invention called Taylor Two Trivia. Like Trivial Pursuit, players ask and answer obscure questions. Since tomorrow is Ben’s and my birthday, the questions were all about the two of us. What a great idea! The first question was, “What is Jim’s favorite ice cream flavor?” Uh oh. Now, what is my favorite flavor? (You see, I make decisions slowly and favorites are especially difficult.) But the game was great fun, especially for Ben and me.