All the brats were very excited about our trip to Maryland. I can't speak for everyone, but the idea of meeting them for the first time had me grinning from Ohio to Harpers Ferry. My partners in crime were some of the most wonderful women I'd never met. A weekend in Nora's neck of the woods surrounded by brats and broads sounded like heaven. Even if 7 hours into a 5 1/2 hour drive I did snarl a bit at the comment in my directions that read "can't miss it".
First on the agenda was a game of hide-n-seek with Robin through the labyrinth of Hilltop House culminating in shouts and hugs and laughter. The location of our gathering was bursting with breath taking views. It had a sense of antiquity you only find in this section of the country. It's charming and it's friendly despite the things that go bump in the night. Robin and I lurked around a bit on Thursday. We spotted some broads, but quite frankly they frightened us so we decided to wait for the rest of our posse to arrive before attempting contact.
The next day began at 6 A.M. (yes, I said 6 A.M.) with 18 holes of golf at the Sleepy Hollow Golf and Country Club. A charming little course--although I think whoever added the country club part to the name did so with his tongue pressed firmly in his cheek. Cayle (Robin's dh) spent most of his day playing in the sand while Robin and I relished a conversation where neither of us were required to type. The fact that we weren't being charged a dime a minute just added to our jubilation.
Later that day, after hooking up with Lisa, the three of us headed down to the dinner buffet in the hotel. Some of the broads were there so in tactical agreement we directed the conversation away from anything that would reveal our identity. We tried not to be but we were nervous. We were still one brat shy of a full load. A woman I didn't know looked straight at me and walked toward us. It was like someone flipped a switch in my head. Maria. I recognized her by the winged cherubs on her shoulders. All the hugging gave us away and the broads asked if we were "The Brats". Maria can't lie ... even with a gun to her head (a theory we tested) so we were busted. During the whole "can we take your picture?" "No." CLICK CLICK CLICK we found out they knew who we were because they recognized Robin's name. (Big hairy eyeball at Robb for her ubiquitous posts) We weren't being unfriendly exactly. After 10 months or so of speaking to each other through a PC, we kinda wanted a moment to ourselves to sit and stare. Besides, if you look up the word gregarious in the dictionary, not once is the word brat mentioned in the definition.
We did manage later to wander down to the bar only to brought up short by a room full of drunken broads. I saw Wym inhale some vodka concoction. (she swears she wasn't drinking so I gotta figure she was breathing it in through that straw) Nancy D, despite being impaired, managed to introduce the entire room to us. Then something strange happened ... they all began to sing with an eerie "Stepford-like" unity, and one quick glance showed me I was not the only brat with my back to the wall and one eye on the door. They were very sweet. They even asked us to join them. I felt four collective minds form one thought. If memory serves it went something like..."Ahhhhhh!" It took us some time to get to know the lovable broads. To transition slowly from stark fear to charmed acceptance. I'm sure I speak for all of us when I say we enjoyed ourselves tremendously and liked the broads very much. (there ,I said it, Sue now put the gun down)
As to the rest of our adventure you could safely call us the little lost girls. Like something out of a Twilight zone episode every turn was a wrong turn. We drove down every street in Hagerstown twice searching for Lisa's hotel. We played follow the leader and ring around the rosy looking for a place to have lunch. (that was after asking for directions) You would think one would be grateful, in the face of such turmoil, to ride shotgun with her mouth shut but noooo ... not when there is a near fatal catastrophe to harp on and on about. Something monumentally important to the quality of life for all man kind as we know it. I'm not sure if you all heard during the emergency broadcast from all the major affiliates about the global impact carrying only one CD in your car has on the planet at large, but to hear a certain brat tell the tale, there are cosmic ripples still being felt. I could live to be 300 and never out run the shame of taking my other CD's inside the hotel where they could escape the heat. I don't want to name any name's about which brat was bitchin' til I thought my ears would bleed but she did say she was "fixin' to have a nervous breakdown" if that gives you any clue. <g> Did I mention our excursion to the cemetery?
By early evening on Saturday we had settled into our roles and refined them into "having no idea where we are." This is better than being lost because it carries less stress. We were nearly philosophical about the whole thing by the time we spotted Hilltop House. Maria, I told you to have some faith. Any road called Harpers Ferry road had to take us there eventually. Of course we were on the road across the river looking up the side of the mountain at the hotel but at least we could see it. With our luck we were still a four hour drive from it but we could see it. (by now Lisa is wondering if I'm going to mention the fact at her adamant insistence I turned right only to realize I was heading the wrong way down a one way street in the middle of Hagerstown. Nah, don't worry Punk, I decided not to mention it)
There were other incidents I could mention. There was the actual signing where brats and broads alike shoe horned themselves into Bruce's book store like college students into a '68 Volkswagen. The inevitable shoving match over who, of the brats, went first in line at the signing (I lost so I went first) or the hour long attempt to place a ten minute phone call to Belle in Australia. How about when Nan's father told us we had the wrong number because she neglected to tell us her family calls her Suzanne and doesn't know who the hell "Nan" is. Whatever the situation it seems there was a story to tell or a memory to savor. Those of you who swear you're going next year won't be disappointed. If you think about it, ask Robin to tell you about losing her wedding ring at a golf course in West Virginia. The ring with the big ol' diamond in it. The one her husband designed for her. She'll know which one you're talking about. <ewg>
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