Viva Las Harper's Ferry

lmao!!! thats freakin funny!!! Pictures, Images and Photos

I'm all shook up. Sorry, had to get one more Elvis thing in there.

I told you last blog about the broken footed journey to Baltimore. It is time to tell you the rest.

Dear old cousin Keith was getting married, technically in PA, but Baltimore is way better, and we spend more time there... moving on.

Our Dad took his bike up there, and left us the Expedition. Well, being the graceful and highly intelligent person that she is, Celia decided that it would be a truly excellent idea to fall down the stairs the night before we left.

She sprained her ankle and broke the outside of her foot. But, since I was just getting onto 485 from the other side of Charlotte when I got her panicked phone call, I had to make her wait.

I get there, and now The Boy Child, her son, is following her around, doing this really great limping hopping imitation of her, I love this child. We say our goodbyes and I drive her down the mountain to the hospital, really cute doctors by the way. We do the x-ray thing, get the crutches and move on. She happened to live on the 3rd story, so that was fun as well. The next day we leave for Baltimore, around 3 pm, I think. I refuse to drive. I have a hard enough time driving my own little car to even think about driving this huge hunk of metal with a bi-focal windshield. *It was cracked directly at my level of eyesight*

Ok, I'm skimming over some things here. The drive up was horrible. I took my turn in VA, where it was straight; I do NOT appreciate the speed traps thank you very much. I'm looking for this certain exit, and I turn up it, wake Celia up and manage to hit the biggest bump I could find, jarring her foot into the dash board. Hey... shouldn't have made me drive.

Baltimore and the wedding wasn't so bad really, except I left her ice brace water brace gel cushy thingy, whatever it was at the reception hall. Side note... anything with fountains of chocolate AND booze... great time for all.

On the way back, we're going through WV, and I'm trying my darnedest to make people look in my general direction by rubbing my face on the window, serenading them, vogue-ing and what not, no one pays attention until I don't want them to. After watching Joe Dirt, you’ll understand this next part. Every five minutes or so, I would be overcome by the urge to jump up and down in my seat and scream “You’re my sister! You’re my sister!” Sorry to anyone from that state, we all have our little things to be ashamed of, and that happens to be yours. But we decided to take a detour into a tiny little town called Harpers Ferry, WV. It’s historical, civil war, John Browne, all that good stuff. But the coolest parts of the town were off limits; apparently people actually live there, whodathunkit? Celia tried her best to hobble around the cobblestone sidewalks as long as she could, which was probably about 25 seconds. So I went in search of a wheel chair, which I got from a blind park ranger nonetheless. Nice guy. So now we’ve got Celia in the wheel chair, her crutches some how attached to either her or the chair of death, I’ll explain that, and me pushing her. It’s about 412 degrees outside, the sidewalks, and the road for that matter are cobblestone, which I mentioned earlier. That was fun. Then there were shops she wanted to go in. And the best shops, to her way of thinking, were the ones on

Hill Street.

It is called this for a reason.

It is a street. It goes up hill. About 90 degrees for what seemed like 5.5 miles. I’m a pretty strong chick I like to think, but I would have trouble pushing a child up this hill, I had trouble just walking, and now I’m trying to push a grown woman in a wheel chair up this atrocity of a hill. Still cobblestone. And she wants to complain about the bumps. I’m almost horizontal pushing this chair and her up this hill, panting, sweating, envisioning my hands slipping and being crushed beneath the rubber wheels as it plummets back down. We finally get to where she wants to go, and I have to maneuver her towards the door which is conveniently located at the top of a stair case…. It almost got nasty, front wheels went over and everything and she’s screaming at me and trying to backpedal to no avail, and now it’s my turn to cackle madly. She manages to go inside and buys wine of all things. In glass bottles, so now I have that to deal with. I’m outside enjoying my “mosquito” flavored sherbet…. Note the invisible second R in that word. It was rainbow but there was a mosquito cleverly hidden inside. We finish our shopping and its time to get back to the car somehow. We are atop this 5 mile 90 degree angled hill and are trying to not die going back down. I turn the chair around, I might have thrown it, one’s memory tends to blur with time, she sits down, and we re-attach the crutches. She’s clutching her possessions, GLASS bottles and all as we start down. Everything’s fine for a minute… until it gets steeper. And I’m still sweaty and tired, and now I’m horizontal in a different direction, the chair picks up speed; I’m holding on, it goes a little faster… I’m trying to dig my heels in; my hands are slipping off the handles, and for a second… I let go on accident, and there she is careening towards another staircase, screaming, trying to grab something and hold onto her 42 packages, and I have to laugh. And then run after her and grab her and hold on for dear life, I’m grabbing everything within reach trying to get this thing stopped, digging in my heels, and finally we stop. And she’s almost crying and still screaming, people are staring, and I am just laughing so hard I thought I might throw up my mosquito. We finished our journey down hill in one piece, but I was almost murdered because I kept letting go of her on purpose and letting her speed up a little. She didn’t think it was funny. You had to be on the other side sis. Returned the wheel chair, almost got hit by a few cars, she got to be “air lifted” onto the tour bus again, almost shutting her feet in the door, and we returned safely to the car. And the rest is written below in the other blog. Hmm… I do love historical towns.



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