Date: Wed, 31 Dec 1997 12:54:28 -0700
From: Charlie Ford <cford@mindspring.com>
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"



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