Date: Wed, 31 Dec 1997 12:54:28 -0700 From: Charlie Ford To: type2@bigkitty.azaccess.com Subject: My Christmas in Dixie Since leaving Virginia I have done quite a bit of traveling. The woes that my brother was suffering sort of left me in a mood to be alone with whatever thoughts my feeble mind happened to produce. It was a total mystery to me what I would think about, but I knew that Christmas deserved some of my undivided attention. I have spent roughly 12 of the last 20 Christmas's alone. I actually sort of enjoy it. Sure a family would be nice, complete with kids and tree and dog, but one out of three ain't bad. I as you all already know, am a romantic sentimentalist. I love Hallmark films and always tear up at the end when the marvelous "good thing" happens. I enjoy Christmas for what I believe it is and should be. In my way of looking at it, Christmas is not about Walmart, parking lots, or rude Santa Clause's, if that is your meaning, I guess I can respect that. I guess in a way I expected my Christmas at the Outer Banks to be a little more contemplative than it actually turned out to be. I wanted to write my "missive", as Ken so aptly put it, with some reverence, cause, and affect. In reality all I did was walk a bit, lay around a bit, and be quiet a bit while laid up in The Mothership. I have met so many people over the past few weeks and that has been quite tiring. In fact, since re-entering the "East Coast Shuffle" at about Cincinatti, I have been deluged with handshakes and hellos. Now don't get me wrong, that is not a bad thing, but my voice still hasn't regained full resonance from the flu, and my mind was a mixture of smiles and conversation. Both were flooded with fog so thick that Sherlock Holmes himself would have trouble unraveling this mystery, even someone as talkative as me needs to shut up sometime and think about what I've talked about and learned. Christmas was going to be my time to do it. The "day" pretty much served the purpose. When I arrived at the Outer Banks I set up in the Demarcharnel RV Park, where the elderly manager Ms. Deloach greeted me like I was a son...in a business sense of course. I ended up staying at the campsite for three nights, one night at a time. Ms. Deloach, the first night charged me $10.00, including electric and cable TV (Yee Haw!!!). The second night I decided to return and hang out, she charged me $7.00. The third night she gave me the sight free for as long as I was there, that is until she returned from her Christmas visit with her son and his family. Ms. Deloach is a proper southern woman of age. She speaks with that slow, almost purposeful southern drawl that just sort of oozes through the sylables. Instead of "here' she would say "heeya" in a lady-like fashion of course. She was just like a southern Grandmother should be, sweet as honey from the comb, and as business shrewd as any New York Wall Street dude, when she needed to be, but only when it was proper to be that way. Upon meeting Ms. Deloach I couldn't help but remember and agree with the words of Historian, Shelby Foote, when he says that "Southerners have a sense of place about them". Meaning, that manners and respect are utmost in our upbringing, we are always mindful of a structural hierarchy that guages our behavior, to most of us, at least the older ones, it is like riding a bike, it is "trained up" in us. You say "Yes Mam", "No mam", "thank-you" and "please". If you don't, then the rule of "Spare the rod, spoil the child" comes to play, believe me it is better to bite the bullet and be respectful. It's not such a painful thing to do, the other is. On Christmas eave I took a drive along the shores around Kitty Hawk. I drove down past the Wright Borthers Monument which is coming up on the 100th anniversary, and took a ride down to the Bodie Island Lighthouse. The northern strand of the Outer Banks are pretty densly populated compared to the southern banks near Cape Hatteras and Oakracoake. This section is dedicated to trying to balance making money and maintaining the environment. Mainly the businesses consist of resturaunts, convenience stores and beach shops. All of them thrive on the tourist coming to bathe on the shores that they chose to set up shop beside. Many of the business are owned by old families of the region, but others are owned by large conglomerates and corperations, both have outrageous pricing. Greed lives on the Outer Banks, just like anywhere else. After my little drive I pulled into a Texaco Station. across the street from the street the campground was on. One of the employees, a guy named Eric started asking me some questions about the Mothership, "how well it ran?" that sort of thing. The conversation sort of moved to why I was out here. I explained the trip and a little about why. I asked him if he knew of a place I might check my e-mail. He rapidly told me that I could check it at his house. I rapidly took him up on the offer since I was hoping too hear from some more Carolina folks. Eric was supposed to get off work in an hour and the Motherhsip had finally finished burning that set of points I filed in Virginia, so I went out to the bus and dropped in the new set I had picked up at the parts house on the way down. That took all of five minutes, I even set them by eye and they worked the first time. Tobin Copely would be proud of me for sure. : ) We headed over to Erics house and I checked my E-mail. While there I met his family and I mean a big family. Needless too say the Mother of the clan was not terribly pleased to have this complete stranger coming in at the drop of a hat. She was not upset at me, but she was visibly irritated with Eric. I went back down stairs and got ready too leave. Now Eric was somthing of a hyper sort. he was a fellow of about thirty years old, married, one child, and smoked like he was a steamroller. he and his brothers all enjoyed smoking. In fact they smoked about anything that was around if you get my drift. I stood there and smoked with them, we all had a smoking good time. But still I prepared to leave, but not before they all invited me to come to Christmas dinner, the Mother invited me. I went back to the campground and lay around watching cable TV and waiting for the deluge of "Deep Thoughts about Christmas". It seems like I would have had some that evening, I mean I have just had a family I don't even know invite me in and then invite me back. I guess this would be what Christmas stands for more than anything else. It is about giving and recieving, about being grateful and gracious, it is about sharing, and smiling while you do it. I read the chapter in my bible that speaks about the first Christmas. I tell you, man in all his finite wisdom has always wanted and tried to become an infinite God, and honestly many folks believe they can do it. If this is the case, why is it so hard for us to believe that God can become man. I read a BC Cartoon in the Sunday comics to that affect, and it did make me think. The Christmas story contains miraculous mystery, space (the star), a virgin, plot, suffering, and three wise dudes that came from the east. As far as I am concerned it is as good as any Stephen King book ever written. I lay there and contemplated myself to sleep. The next morning, Christmas morning, I awoke to a beautiful sunrise over the ocean. the winds were whipping around the Mothership like crazy. I found the bathroom and sat there listening to the shore sounds. the waves in the Outer Banks are huge ominous things at times. I don't recon there anything like some of Californias surf, but they in their own right demand a lot of repect and you can easily find yourself captured by the rage they seem to carry with them each time they curl. The sounds are amazing, like and artillery barrage. About 10:00 AM I headed over to Erics to enjoy some vittles and Outer Banks hospitality. I pulled up in the drive and sure enough everyone that smoked was standing outside doing just that. They were all happy to see me and we all greeted and had another smoke. Some of the kids, that were not smoking, started playing with Gus. he had a grand time with all the short people running a laughing around and over him. We all sat down and ate a hearty homecooked meal that wa comprised of Oyster stuffing (an Outer Banks favorite) and ham and turkey and cranberry sauce still in the shape of the can. You could almost read the brand name in the side of the red sculpting. After eating we all adjourned outside and had a smoke. Life was good, our bellies were full and now we were having desert, the pies and cakes could wait until after the smoke. Besides we had all eaten so much. After the sweet stuff, and a couple more bouts of smoking I headed back to the Campground. I needed at least some of the day quietly to myself. I went back to the campground, saw Ms. Deloach, before she left, and thanked her for her gift of lodging. She and I wished each other a Merry Christmas and parted. I hope too see her again someday, she is a nice lady with a lot of class. I once again lay around and waited for the deep thoughts to emerge. I kept thinking, "I am supposed to be much more solemn than this, whats wrong with me?". I lay there and listened to some soft easy music mixing with the tide to create a chamber session that would include Martha (Busgirl), her husband Nathan, and Izzac Perlman. It was a symphony like none other peformed by anyone, and this one would not go on "strike" either. At least not as long as the radio played and the sea rolled. Sleep finally came and I drifted off and dreamed about cranberry sauce. The morning after Christmas I headed out. I drove south along the highway, the only one that takes you along the entire length of the banks. The drive was so level that you could have thumped a marble and it would most likely have rolled all the way down to the ferry to Hatteras Island. This strand of land is nothing more than sandy beaches with a highway running down the middle. I arrived at the Cape Hatteras Lighthouse and stopped to allow Gus an opportunity to do his business. we walked around for a few minutes, took a couple of pictures and eased on along. We took the free ferry from Hateras to Okracoake Island and drove around over there for a while. Okracoake Island used to be called Pilot's Island. This is where the more skillful of the Atlantic Coast sailors lived. They were the ones that moved and navigated the boats through the treachorous waters of the "Graveyard of the Atlantic" just off the shores of the banks. Okracoake is also the former hangout of the pirate Blackbeard who pillaged the sailing ships coming through a couple hundred years ago. In fact they think that they have found the "Queen Anns Revenge" Blackbeards ship, which in it's time carried just a few loads of the Gold stolen from other ships passing through. History says that balckbeard prior to going into battle would tie his jet black beard in braids, and put red ribbons at the end of each strand. he did this for affect of course, he was a showman no doubt. Eventually old Blackbeard got whipped. A luetinant was sent down to capture him. he did his job very well, cutting off Blackbeards head after all was said and done, and delivering it back to the king that had ransomed it. there lay old Blackbeard, at least his head, dressed for delivery in his red ribbons and dreadlocks. What a fateful and hard-fought day that must have been. The Luetinant thinking about promotion and Blackbeard thinking about nothing. I took the ferry from Okarcoake to the mainland and headed north on Highway 70. Stefan Ufer from Chapel Hill had invited me to drop in at his house for a day or so. While there we hung out and talked a bit. Stefan is one heck of a guy. He also is an avid VW nut with two westies sitting in his garage. he was in the process of changing out some engines while I was there, one of which he had just built from the ground up. I tried to visit Richard Palmer Alexander while I was there. Richard's signature on his E mails have always intrigued me to say the least. "I keep explaing to dead heads why I am Christian, and Christians why I am deadhead" is recoginazable to many of us I know. I hate it that I missed him. I drove down to Charlotte after Chapel Hill. I arrived here this past Sunday and am spending some time with some old friends of mine. I lived here in the early 80's and still have "friends for life" that live here. The kind of friends that you only speak every year or two, but each time you do speak it's like you saw each other yesterday. Russ and Donna Scott, Mitch Freitag, and Tony Rebol being amongst them. I will fill you all in on this part over the next few days. I hope you all had a nice Christmas and are having a Happy New Year. I think the fact the trip is only ten days from being over is making me a little solemn and sad, but at the same time, I have the promise of brand spanking new year to work with. Thanks for tolerating the rambling's. Charlie Ford "79" Transporter, dressed for the road The Mothership The"Turning 40 Nostalgic VW Service Tour, and Search for the Beginning of Wind". http://www.slurpee.net/~keen/charlie/charlie.html "Wider still and wider.....shall thy bounds be set" ------------------------------------------------------------------------- To leave the list, send an UNSUBSCRIBE message to TYPE2-REQUEST@TYPE2.COM -------------------------------------------------------------------------