Destroying Monticello Part II
On my refrigerator at The Hermitage I have a million magnets. I know, weird a 65 year old guy has refrigerator magnets but I do. I enjoy collecting them telling me where I've been and what I've done.
Most of the magnets are on the top half of the refrigerator so you can actually read them. There are a bunch of St. Francis; Jefferson; Emerson; places I've been to... nice collage of my whereabouts and interests. (I've often thought Dave Barry or someone like him could write a fun book called "You Can Tell a Lot About a Man by His Refrigerator Magnets.")
Anyway there are also a bunch of them on the bottom of the refrigerator, at what I call Max Level. Max is my almost two year old grandson, one of the two smartest and best looking children on the planet. Max also likes my magnets. He moves them around, throws them across the room, often places them in the microwave, which I discover before I put my soup in there, most of the time.
And when Max and the family leave I find those damn magnets all over the house-under a bench, behind a door, in a bathroom. Everywhere Max has been, there is a magnet. Truth is I love finding those magnets because it reminds me of him and them and that makes me happy...
You're wondering what this has to do with Monticello. Well as we stood there getting ready to get off the bus, after having gone up and down the mountain more than Jefferson did in his lifetime in order for Hayleigh to enjoy the ride, it occurred to me that having Max in a building full of stuff might not be a good idea. I began to envision finding the Treaty of Paris in his diaper when he got home... if magnets attracted him, all Jefferson's stuff would be like he died and went to heaven.
Another issue that caused concern as we approached the house from the East front, just like all those people did when they came to visit Jefferson, was how do you tell two little children who have been taught to touch things--my daughter and son-in-law believe strongly that children learn more by actually experiencing things--that touching the original Houdon Bust of Jefferson was probably not a good idea. And that wasn't such a long-shot since Grandpa has a copy of that bust in his study and why wouldn't Hayleigh say, 'hey grandpa has one of these' and proceed to give it a shove...
As we approached the steps, grandpa-he of the copy of the Houdon Bust-was beginning to question this whole enterprise...
The greeter at the steps was a nice young man who told us he had been there a while and enjoyed kids. We bantered with him, me trying to feel him out for whether or not they had cops ready to grab a two year old as he swiped one of the chairs out of the parlor or not. He assured us that many kids had been through the building and ours would be fine.
Then Hayleigh and Max ran up the steps and proceeded to kiss the 250 year old glass doors with a loud thud from the palms of their hands... thank goodness my son-in-law was next to me to catch me falling...
We assured them they wouldn't do that again and all seemed fine. The greeter, having turned a bright burnt orange had returned to natural color.
That was just about the time Hayleigh decided to run in circles--fast circles-- on the steps by the doors coming perilously close numerous times to launching herself right into the parlor without need of an open door...
By now I had ruined my suit...
Next step was to go inside the house. I had chosen the last tour of the day for two reasons: I thought there would be less people and I knew that house well enough that the sun would be pouring in the west front windows in the parlor and set my/our heart a flutter.
Before your tour you wait in the front hall. This is the room that has changed over the years as they have learned more about Jefferson. When I first toured there in the 70's I seem to remember they had a bunch of stuff that didn't match. Since they have learned more about what was there and returned it, like the rest of the house, to as original a scene as they could.
I found quickly that while I was right about the sun and the fluttering, I was wrong about the number of people. The hall room was jammed.
Max was getting antsy...
Hayleigh was eyeing what to inquire about (really, inquire is a word she might even use)...
Grandpa was getting ready to faint again.
But the Monticello folks saw us, anticipated possibilities and first offered us a stroller for Max (we had left ours outside thinking they wouldn't be allowed), and then A PRIVATE TOUR... wow, after all the years going there this was the first time I saw them pull a small group aside and give them a private tour!
Our docent was a sweet young woman who looked happy to take us ahead of the final tour, all by ourselves through the house. She had been directed to do so by an older woman who was obviously in charge and must have had experience making sure this World Heritage Site maintained its status as such.
Now I don't want you to have the impression my grandchildren act out. They don't. They really are very well behaved. They respond well to their parents, especially their father who is 7 feet tall and well put together and scares the crap out of me too... but they're kids! Smart kids! Kids that want to touch stuff...
Melissa or Buffy or Muffin, or whatever our UVA educated, private school formed docent's name was, had never been through that house faster than she was with 'ol grandpa. We went from room to room with me pointing out the good stuff quickly as we entered, "here's where his daughter spent lots of time when she ran the house for her father, Hayleigh... isn't this a nice bed?" Next room please...
Here's his library and cabinet... look, there's the chair he used as Vice President Max. Look at all those books Hayleigh! They're in boxes too so they can be carried... NEXT!
This is his cabinet Hayleigh. Recognize the polygraph? Yea, just like the one in the discovery center... NEXT...
And so my grandchildren and children were forced to tour one of the great sites in the world with their father/grandfather acting as a combination docent and Carl Lewis all wrapped into one.
We went through the house in a record six minutes, fourteen seconds. Missy didn't know whether to burp or go blind from this whirlwind... she just looked at us, smiled, said "oh, yes, that's right," and then ran behind us to the next room.
We ended in the same hall we started in. Whew, I thought. Made it.
My son-in-law reached down, pulled up poor Max (whose hair was standing straight on end from the wind resistance) put him in his arms....and proceeded to miss the step out the door and hit those same 250 year old doors with such a thud I was surprised Jefferson didn't sit up in his grave and yell 'what the hell is going on up there?!'
BANG, Tym hit the doors with Max in his arm as he tripped down the front step.
I turned around to apologize but Buffy was already closing the door and saying in a fairly loud voice, I thought, "OK." Click went the latch on the doors that had survived two Aschermann Attacks...
We laughed, of course, as grandpa thought about the headline in the Charlottesville Observer tomorrow: "Jefferson fan and family do what the British couldn't do-destroy Monticello."
When we got down the hill, after another bus ride Hayleigh loved, we passed the ticket window.
They already had pictures of all five of us with a hand printed sign next to them that said "DO NOT SELL TICKETS TO THESE PEOPLE."
"Who cares,"Hayleigh said. "Seen one of these places, you've seen them all."
Most of the magnets are on the top half of the refrigerator so you can actually read them. There are a bunch of St. Francis; Jefferson; Emerson; places I've been to... nice collage of my whereabouts and interests. (I've often thought Dave Barry or someone like him could write a fun book called "You Can Tell a Lot About a Man by His Refrigerator Magnets.")
Anyway there are also a bunch of them on the bottom of the refrigerator, at what I call Max Level. Max is my almost two year old grandson, one of the two smartest and best looking children on the planet. Max also likes my magnets. He moves them around, throws them across the room, often places them in the microwave, which I discover before I put my soup in there, most of the time.
And when Max and the family leave I find those damn magnets all over the house-under a bench, behind a door, in a bathroom. Everywhere Max has been, there is a magnet. Truth is I love finding those magnets because it reminds me of him and them and that makes me happy...
You're wondering what this has to do with Monticello. Well as we stood there getting ready to get off the bus, after having gone up and down the mountain more than Jefferson did in his lifetime in order for Hayleigh to enjoy the ride, it occurred to me that having Max in a building full of stuff might not be a good idea. I began to envision finding the Treaty of Paris in his diaper when he got home... if magnets attracted him, all Jefferson's stuff would be like he died and went to heaven.
Another issue that caused concern as we approached the house from the East front, just like all those people did when they came to visit Jefferson, was how do you tell two little children who have been taught to touch things--my daughter and son-in-law believe strongly that children learn more by actually experiencing things--that touching the original Houdon Bust of Jefferson was probably not a good idea. And that wasn't such a long-shot since Grandpa has a copy of that bust in his study and why wouldn't Hayleigh say, 'hey grandpa has one of these' and proceed to give it a shove...
As we approached the steps, grandpa-he of the copy of the Houdon Bust-was beginning to question this whole enterprise...
The greeter at the steps was a nice young man who told us he had been there a while and enjoyed kids. We bantered with him, me trying to feel him out for whether or not they had cops ready to grab a two year old as he swiped one of the chairs out of the parlor or not. He assured us that many kids had been through the building and ours would be fine.
Then Hayleigh and Max ran up the steps and proceeded to kiss the 250 year old glass doors with a loud thud from the palms of their hands... thank goodness my son-in-law was next to me to catch me falling...
We assured them they wouldn't do that again and all seemed fine. The greeter, having turned a bright burnt orange had returned to natural color.
That was just about the time Hayleigh decided to run in circles--fast circles-- on the steps by the doors coming perilously close numerous times to launching herself right into the parlor without need of an open door...
By now I had ruined my suit...
Next step was to go inside the house. I had chosen the last tour of the day for two reasons: I thought there would be less people and I knew that house well enough that the sun would be pouring in the west front windows in the parlor and set my/our heart a flutter.
Before your tour you wait in the front hall. This is the room that has changed over the years as they have learned more about Jefferson. When I first toured there in the 70's I seem to remember they had a bunch of stuff that didn't match. Since they have learned more about what was there and returned it, like the rest of the house, to as original a scene as they could.
I found quickly that while I was right about the sun and the fluttering, I was wrong about the number of people. The hall room was jammed.
Max was getting antsy...
Hayleigh was eyeing what to inquire about (really, inquire is a word she might even use)...
Grandpa was getting ready to faint again.
But the Monticello folks saw us, anticipated possibilities and first offered us a stroller for Max (we had left ours outside thinking they wouldn't be allowed), and then A PRIVATE TOUR... wow, after all the years going there this was the first time I saw them pull a small group aside and give them a private tour!
Our docent was a sweet young woman who looked happy to take us ahead of the final tour, all by ourselves through the house. She had been directed to do so by an older woman who was obviously in charge and must have had experience making sure this World Heritage Site maintained its status as such.
Now I don't want you to have the impression my grandchildren act out. They don't. They really are very well behaved. They respond well to their parents, especially their father who is 7 feet tall and well put together and scares the crap out of me too... but they're kids! Smart kids! Kids that want to touch stuff...
Melissa or Buffy or Muffin, or whatever our UVA educated, private school formed docent's name was, had never been through that house faster than she was with 'ol grandpa. We went from room to room with me pointing out the good stuff quickly as we entered, "here's where his daughter spent lots of time when she ran the house for her father, Hayleigh... isn't this a nice bed?" Next room please...
Here's his library and cabinet... look, there's the chair he used as Vice President Max. Look at all those books Hayleigh! They're in boxes too so they can be carried... NEXT!
This is his cabinet Hayleigh. Recognize the polygraph? Yea, just like the one in the discovery center... NEXT...
And so my grandchildren and children were forced to tour one of the great sites in the world with their father/grandfather acting as a combination docent and Carl Lewis all wrapped into one.
We went through the house in a record six minutes, fourteen seconds. Missy didn't know whether to burp or go blind from this whirlwind... she just looked at us, smiled, said "oh, yes, that's right," and then ran behind us to the next room.
We ended in the same hall we started in. Whew, I thought. Made it.
My son-in-law reached down, pulled up poor Max (whose hair was standing straight on end from the wind resistance) put him in his arms....and proceeded to miss the step out the door and hit those same 250 year old doors with such a thud I was surprised Jefferson didn't sit up in his grave and yell 'what the hell is going on up there?!'
BANG, Tym hit the doors with Max in his arm as he tripped down the front step.
I turned around to apologize but Buffy was already closing the door and saying in a fairly loud voice, I thought, "OK." Click went the latch on the doors that had survived two Aschermann Attacks...
We laughed, of course, as grandpa thought about the headline in the Charlottesville Observer tomorrow: "Jefferson fan and family do what the British couldn't do-destroy Monticello."
When we got down the hill, after another bus ride Hayleigh loved, we passed the ticket window.
They already had pictures of all five of us with a hand printed sign next to them that said "DO NOT SELL TICKETS TO THESE PEOPLE."
"Who cares,"Hayleigh said. "Seen one of these places, you've seen them all."
I bet Max looks just like his handsome grandfather! Great blogpost, kurt!
ReplyDeleteI only wish... remember they are the BEST looking and SMARTEST kids n the planet... thanks for reading Liz...
ReplyDelete