Best laid plans of mice and parents…

Yes, I had hoped for almost all day Thursday to be spent in Charleston, but ’twas not to be. For, as noted previously, at 11pm Wednesday night, we heard a faint whine: "My ear hurts."

Anyone with a child knows that’s just about the worst thing you can hear at that particular time of night. There’s really nothing you can do about it with what you normally have at hand in the medicine cabinet, especially if you’re travelling, the pain can get intense, and it’s hours until you can do anything about it, unless you choose the hospital route, and who really wants to choose that unless you’re desperate?

It was Joseph (obvious, since Michael can only say, "Mommy" "Daddy" "Kagie" "Baby" and "NO!"), and he had  rough hour or two, then eventually went to sleep. Still hurting in the morning, so we packed up and headed for an urgent care center that was on the way to Charleston.

THREE HOURS LATER we staggered out of the place. Outrageous. Granted they had to clean his ear out to be able to see his eardrum, but total face time with actual medical personnel was about 20 minutes, and I’m telling you there were only five people ahead of us when we got there.

Note to Urgent Care office managers: It’s not a good idea to have people wait two hours to see a doctor. Or, in our case, nurse practictioner (which is fine with me, and not the issue – I wish there could be nurse practitioners set up in convenience stores around the land, ear scopes in hand, ready to peek in ears, say "Yeah, ear infection" and write you your scrip and send you on your way.). It’s especially not a good idea to have your staff chatting and yukking it up in the hallway outside the examining rooms while your patients are stewing and trying to deal with sick boys and impatient babies. Not that I’m a professional or anything.

So, with Amoxicillian ingested, we set on our way to Charleston, many hours later than planned. Michael had to cancel his noon appointment with an author, we got into town around 2, went downtown, ate lunch, I absorbed a bit of atmosphere (Michael has been there before), and then it was off to find our hotel, another interesting adventure, and get ready – my talk was rather early, at 6:30.

Michael made the excellent discovery that the Charleston Riverdogs stadium was very near the Citadel, so after he dropped me off at the talk, he and the boys went to the game, which I trust he will eventually blog about – it was opening night, so there was great hooplah including Chinese dragons and the national anthem sung by Darius Rucker of Hootie and the Blowfish.

After the talk, I spoke with a number of very nice and interesting people, all of whom expressed frustration with the numbers of people they encounter who take DVC seriously, giving me a little boost for these next few weeks. It’s not just my imagination – there’s a need.

Anyway, one gentleman told me that his brother owned one of the carriage companies downtown, gave me a card, and told me that I had four passes for a free ride the next morning – aren’t people kind? Especially since that’s not the kind of thing I’d normally pay to do, being a tightwad and all that.

So, the next morning we rose, ate breakfast, checked out, and headed for the bishops’ residence. Where we discovered breakfast all laid out in a lovely dining room (not the dining room, but, you know…still something).  We demurred for the most part, although I ate the cantelope, which was fantastic, and much better than that at the Residence Inn. We got the tour of the residence, some historical background, and a look at a fine, muted portrait of Bishop England (1820-1842) by Samuel F.B. Morse.

After the boys did the required minimum damage (actually I think everything escaped unscathed), the three of us left in search of our carriage ride while Michael and the bishop continued their meeting undisturbed.

Charleston’s interesting and lovely, and I don’t have time to discourse on it at any length, nor do I have the authority. It screams "money" immediately, albeit in a more subtle way than other places.  It definitely seemed like a place to wander, fruitfully, and even the little bit our carriage tour guide pointed out about the architecture of the homes was intriguing and enough to get the normally architecturally ignorant interested…

(Time for a break. Got to go. Be back home tonight. Ciao, y’all. )

.t