(OT) Praise/rant/etc #15 (series finale, part two)

[Eye of Hoffs]

The whirlwind I mentioned previously arose from further down the road in Canton. The Reuggans had picked us up at around nine on what was a glorious, sunny morning and we arrived at the next pick-up spot about half an hour later. At first I had something of a panic attack when a bespectacled female figure with short grey hair emerged from the house and painful memories of the EZ Mart came flooding back. She had a white stick protruding from her mouth and a cellphone seemingly surgically attached to her left hand and I quickly realised that this must indeed be the and and only CharGar. She greeted us warmly before ushering us into her house where her two old dogs awaited. Both were very friendly and I spent some time fussing them. After they had disengaged I noticed that my shirt was worryingly damp in several places. A quick sniff test proved inconclusive as to whether the contaminant was merely slobber or something altogether more unedifying.

CharGar then temporarily removed the white stick from her mouth to reveal what I think you call a popsicle, explaining that her addiction to the sugary blobs was a result of her abstinence from her previous addiction, tobacco. I had told her some months ago that she would not be allowed in the car with us unless she quit smoking and I am delighted to say that she had taken the threat seriously enough to have been off the coffin nails for over a month now. Make sure you keep it up!

I was then presented with a very unique gift, a new demerit book and a special quill in which to write down the entries. And it was only a few minutes before the first went in. Char showed us some snakes that she was having to keep for one of her sons and though I don't mind snakes in the least the containers in which they were kept seemed way too small so it was an immediate ten demerits per snake as punishment. She then mentioned the wolf spider that had been on her sofa the previous day at which point I ordered an immediate exit from the building and we set off on what would prove to be a tour of the Amish restrooms in the area.

First stop was the city of Dover and a visit to The Warther Museum, dedicated to the master carver Ernest Warther who had spent a lifetime creating amazing models from wood and ivory, chiefly of the steam engines which were very dear to his heart. As soon as we arrived CharGar announced that she was off to the restroom, quickly accompanied by the other two ladies.

“Didn't your mother tell you to go before you set off?” I asked, remembering the train conductor in Duluth. While she was gone I added another twenty demerits into the book.

Once reunited the tour of the museum began. It was one of those typical American affairs given by a lady with a somewhat annoying sickly, saccharin tone which frequently drew responses of “oh yes”, “amazing”, “oh my Gooooood”, etc. It was a fairly old tour group so there were no “cools” to be heard but there were plenty of “awesomes” which is the universal American superlative for something that is amazingly, insanely cool.

The tour proper began in the first room. “Mr Warther made his own tools,” began our guide, “and if you would all care to look at the cabinet on my right you will see....”

*buweep* *buweep* *buweep*

The guide waited patiently until the strange noise subsided then continued. “..you will see all the knives that Ernes...”

*buweep* *buweep* *buweep*

Now there was a frown on her face, directed at a shadowy black figure at the back of the group who was quietly trying to talk into a mobile phone whilst simultaneously sucking a popsicle.

Once again the guide continued, raising her voice slightly to compensate for the rival mumbling. Eventually she got around to the far side of the room and picked up a long and shiny white pointed object.

“Now who can tell me what this is?” she asked with her unctuous smile.

*buweep* *buweep* *buweep*

Fire smouldered in here eyes as she stared at the nervous grey-haired lady at the back.

“A tusk,” someone else responded, dowsing the woman's anguish.

“Oh, yes,” she continued. “But it was all legal back then. Honest it was!”

The tour soon mercifully continued into the theatre where a film was shown, presumably about Mr Whittler's life. I wouldn't really know because, as is normal for me, I fell asleep. But I do seem to remember being roused back to life at least once by some sort of beeping sound. At the end I was nudged awake by Caroline and we moved into an even bigger chamber containing many of the artist's greatest works. Some of the steam engines on display had thousands of individually carved parts, many of which were articulated, and the best one of all to my mind was a model of a Union Pacific “Big Boy” which we had seen full size in Green Bay.

“Just look at this masterful work,” the obsequious narration continued.

“Totally awesome”, “genius”, “oh my Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad” came the assorted responses.

“Why,” she continued, “if you listen carefully you can almost hear the sound of the train's whistle.”

*buweep* *buweep* *buweep*

“No!”, she shouted, “they do not go buweep, buweep.”, but by now CharGar had wisely moved back into the theatre to answer her phone.

After that we moved into the final model display area which contained particularly fine examples carved out of mostly ivory.

“Really, it was all completely okay back then,” the guide reassured us. “Besides, they have warehouses full of ivory all over Africa and at least it is being put to a good artistic use. And Mr Warther loved Elephants and Hippos. Why, he even wanted to create a sanctuary for them right here in Ohio which would be hand-carved out of only the finest grade of ivory, as much as he could lay his hands on.”

And then we were lead into the most exciting part of the tour, a look at the current Warther workshops where they made every kind of knife, cutlery and other sharp and wooden things, all using exactly the same loving techniques as the Old Master himself but now done with automated laser and routing devices. Even Nelson Mandella had a set of knives and if we wanted to get some ourselves we should hurry to the gift shop straight away as they sell like hot cakes and it would take the machinery several minutes to replenish the stocks.

Once back outside we waited for CharGar to finish her latest text message. Then, after another visit to the ladies', we continued to our next stop which was to be the long-awaited Amish luncheon. Whilst en-route CharGar explained that most of the messages and phone calls had been from various family members who were genuinely concerned for her safety. They apparently suspected the four of us of being some kind of axe murderers or child molesters who were planning on doing away with her. I finally decided to award her five demerits per beep that I heard.

I cannot fully remember where the restaurant was located but it was either in or near the village of Sugarcreek, a Swiss styled community. Inside it looked much like the one we had enjoyed so much in Berlin on our last visit. After we were seated, and Char had returned from another restroom visit and likely to check her texts again, we perused the menu which had multiple things of interest but everyone went with the buffet (the stress should be on the first syllable in that word). The waitress took our orders after delivering our drinks and by the time we had finished giving them Char had already emptied her glass and was demanding another

As we went up to serve ourselves it did not take long for me to realise that the only thing out there that I would really eat was the mashed potato. I returned, somewhat shocked, to my table and told the waitress that I had changed my mind and, trying to randomly select something from what I had seen on the menu, could I get the turkey instead? The others returned to the table and all the effort had clearly dehydrated Char so she immediately downed her second glass of lemonade. The moment my turkey arrived Char was pointing to her glass and cracking the whip at our poor waitress and forcing the Amish elder in charge to issue a lemonade drought watch for the county. Meanwhile, I stared in horror at what had been put in front of me. Yes there were plain quantities of pulled white and dark meat, but atop the mash were suspicious yellowish blobs of some pestiferous concoction. I had no idea what it was, probably some kind of cheese product or worse, but clearly this was something that could not possibly be eaten. So I carefully removed what meat was definitely free of any goo then spent the rest of the meal watching the others gorge themselves with plate after plate of food. It was like some Roman orgy without the clothes coming off at the end.

And as for Char, well she kept her slave girl running back and forth to the lemonade bucket all the time, even complaining when the poor lass stopped briefly to talk to her friend and she was without liquid sustenance for a couple of minutes. She should have just brought a hose to the table instead. I have only ever known one other person who could knock back the drinks at such a vast rate, a certain Joe of New England. I am tempted to contact ESPN and organize some kind of major drinking contest to rival the epic Ali vs Foreman fight of 1974. We could hold it in Germany and call it The Swig in Leipzig.

Eventually I followed as the four waddled outside and whilst Char was visiting the restrooms again I awarded her fifty demerits for gluttony. The exhausted waitress was probably counting her blessings that the torture had ended, realising that all she had been told about the evils of the outside world was entirely accurate. Getting out the car park proved particularly difficult as the lemonade drought threat had apparently been upgraded to a full warning and now little Amish buggies with black hatted occupants were trotting in from all directions with casks of the stuff.

We then proceeded to “downtown” Sugar Creek and, after Char had found the restrooms again, we came to the village's main attraction â€" the world's biggest alarm clock. It was about another twenty minutes before the top of the hour so we went on a quick tour of what few shops were in the area and for another visit to the toilets. We arrived back in time for two o'clock when the cuckoo duly came out and croaked before a band of Germanic wooden figures emerged consisting of a cello, accordion, euphonium and bass drum player. They then started playing some Bavarian ditty which would not have been out of place inside a Mexican cantina. They presumably had several other wooden figures hiding in the back providing the music's predominant trumpet and alto horn section.

Somewhat less than impressed we visited a couple more shops and then the village museum which had displays of Amish living and crafting methods. You pressed a button to receive the narrations, all of which were frequently interrupted by a familiar buweep buweep buweep from someone's phone. We emerged around an hour later and whilst the ladies went to hunt down another restroom and Char purchased more liquid, Reuggan and I were treated to another rendition of Das Bamba.

Sugarcreek was very disappointing compared to the Amish community of Berlin we had visited two years ago and as it was primarily Char's idea to go there I inked in another forty demerits for that, twenty for excessive bathroom visits and twenty more for the constant texting. She protested that her family were still concerned about her, even asking her to confirm her middle name so that they knew it was her doing the texting.

As we had a couple of hours to kill before meeting Az and Becca for dinner we decided to visit the aforementioned Berlin where we could have a good nose around the numerous craft and gift shops and give Char plenty of restroom and texting opportunities. After that it was on to our evening assignation, which was a fairly lengthy drive away.

During the course of the day Char had been asking various questions about life in England, such as the Royal family (including Princess Diana of course) and how many times we had met them (*blank stare*), the name of our butler, etc. But best of all was the one about the Channel Tunnel, which if you were paying attention earlier connects the UK with mainland Europe.

“So can you wave at the fish and squid as you go by?” she asked.

“Oooo, that sounds lovely,” agreed Mrs Reuggan.

“No,” I sighed, reaching for the demerit book, “you cannot. It's a tunnel under the sea and all that concrete and sea bed tends to get in the way. And you are riding on a train at 100mph. Even Clark Kent can't see the damned fish.”

Clearly this was a case of too much Futurama and Disney's Tomorrowland and not enough experience of the real world. But soon we were at the restaurant, another huge Mennonite one where the first order of business for the ladies was of course the mandatory visit to you-know-where. We then met Becca and Az and went to our table. CharGar immediately ingratiated herself with Becca by asking if she had been trick-or-treating. True, Becca's long hair does give her the stereotypical witch look, but Char could have used a bit more tact. Becca was obviously considering a barbed reply but was interrupted by a familiar “buweep buweep” which was apparently Char's sister wanting to her to confirm her maiden name in case the latest people she had met were members of The Moonies or something.

After the unfortunate incident at lunch I went for the safer cod and fries this time. But sadly the fish arrived with some kind of orangey paprika-like coating so I had to make do with just fries. I consoled myself with the knowledge that at least I had some meat for lunch and potato for dinner, which sort of balances out I suppose, and to their credit the restaurant did deduct the cost of the fish from the bill (that's check to you), but nevertheless my faith in Amish cooking has taken a severe hit this holiday.

Most of those present had some pie for dessert except for the skeletal Becca who claimed she had been putting on weight and wouldn't be partaking. But I soon noticed that she had indeed ordered some so had obviously had a change of mind. Then we had the inevitable quaint American tradition of piling uneaten food into a box, something that you don't see much back home, probably because they only serve you about a tenth the quantity of what you get here and there is rarely much left over.

There was just time for a visit to the restrooms before we all headed back home. It was an eventful day to say the least and I enjoyed meeting Becca and Az again. When we returned to the hotel I was going to total up Char's demerits for the day but decided it would have to wait until I had access to my adding machine back home.

Tuesday dawned blue and warm again and we made our way back to Reuggan's place. I had some degree of apprehension this time as the previous night's journey had ended with a religious discussion where I revealed to the Reuggans that I was a lifelong atheist. So I was bit worried that maybe the Barberton Inquisition would be waiting for me with torches and a large pile of firewood. But the area had been in drought for some time so maybe the risk of starting a wildfire saved us.

After the bad experiences of driving in the dark and rain at the weekend we wanted to make sure that we started today's fire hour journey early so we only had the morning available to hang out with the crew. Mrs Reuggan had to go to work so we said our fond goodbyes and then headed out with her husband to pick up Char one again. We decided we would have breakfast together and as there was a Denny's near Char's place we went there. CharGar in particular seemed to enjoy the meal, so much so that she took to eating other people's, robbing my poor wife of her toast in the process. Char then further ingratiated herself by asking to look at our UK driving licenses and saying that my picture looked like an escaped criminal. After that we finished with a trip to the NFL Hall of Fame where Char wanted to get a picture of us on the steps. We then had a look around the gift shop and I picked up a few Dolphins trinkets.

And that was pretty much all she wrote for the holiday. It was then time to say goodbye to our good friend, and to CharGar, and head in the direction of Chicago. All in all the trip has been enjoyable but of the four we have made without the kids this has been the one we liked the least, largely because of the lack of any particular highlights in the scenery. There was no Yellowstone or vast giant Washington forests, no White Mountains and fall colours of New England, and no whatever you care to mention of Hawaii. Meeting guildmates aside I think the House on the Rock and the visit to Lambeau were the most enjoyable bits.

And so we get ready to board our flight back home on Wednesday. Mmmm, I can almost smell the home cooking and properly brewed tea. But we finished off with a trip to the Denny's branch across from the hotel. In true English style we walked it and braved crossing the busy four lane US highway. There were no crossing points anywhere to help us, but hell, why should there be? Who would be crazy enough to walk a few hundred yards when ya'lls can just take yer awtowmowbeel with its ten cubic feet per minute of all-American carbon monoxide pollutant and save yerselves all that effort?

[CharGar]

Be safe and cya back in game.  Had a great time!!!!    Please make a new title in the forums called Hoffs' Blog or something and once a week you regale us with one of your stories.
   You are a wonderful writer and I shall miss these rants/raves so consider continuing on

[Razz]

I'm assuming the phone calls CharGar was getting were from Sara getting a play by play of the days activities?

[CharGar]

It was really funny Razz...My sister and youngest son had no trust whatsoever in me going off in a car with 4 strangers I met on the internet.   Of course they were all the craigslist killers.  My sister would text me every couple hours I guess...are you ok?  yes...whats dads first name...Adrian...whats matts middle name...ryan.   After a few secret code messages she was assured that I was indeed safe.     The phone call during the tour came from matt...my youngest son.  I rejected the first call.  He called right back, and I knew if I didn't answer the phone he would have called the sherrifs, FBI ...and prolly the president as well.   Shows ya how much they care....

[CharGar]

HOF Pic and dinner pic.  The last pic in order is:  Az, Rueggan, Me    Becca and the Keeper.

[kelmo]

What a motley crew!