Mr. Washington to My Rescue!

These past four nights I have been overcome with sickness. A mere cold, but completely miserable nonetheless.

George has stayed by my side every minute and kept me comfortable through my misery, telling me stories, further allowing me to understand his life. He's brought me soothing black teas infused with orange rind, and rosehips, and attempted to revive my health with delicious soups and rosemary breads.

I asked if he would tell me of his life away from home, when he was but my age (perhaps a little older), and it seemed as if he had lots of adventures to share. He documented everything in his records. He did attend church at some points, though not as many times as I'm sure his wife would have liked. He did find time for the luxuries of the more artistic lifestyle, which meant that he found himself dancing the night away at three different balls in one year, as well as warming the seats of the theater as he was able to attend two plays during the year of 1768.

He asked if I'd ever been to the circus, and I replied that yes, I had indeed, however I was much younger and didn't remember it. His idea of a circus was being present not only for such silly things as puppet shows and cockfights, but also being the esteemed visitor of a lioness and tiger and elk (oh my!).

He of course didn't put too much stock in revelry, as for the fact that in 1776, his first battlefield victory with The Continental Army took place as he led 9,000 men across Manhattan and succeeded in driving the British back away from taking over the land during the Battle of Harlem Heights. Ironically enough, the word Harlem was actually synonymous with the idea of elegant living from thenceforth on into the early 19th century. How interesting that Harlem is now deeply associated with the lifestyle of crime and poverty.

I didn't realize the T.V. was droning on quietly in the background as we sat and talked - a blanket tucked in tightly around me, my box of tissues dwindling as more crumpled tissues gathered about my lap. George looked over at the T.V. in bemusement, and quickly turned to me with his eyes aglow. A smirk spread across his thin lips, his cheeks drawing higher and higher toward his temples, and his eyebrows arched a little as I knew he was about to tell me another one of his stories.

"What is this display of motion pictures on your screen?", he asked in an amused manner.
I replied: "Well, it's a sitcom, a sort of - um, parody of life, if you will. This particular show is called The Office - in a nutshell, it's a show about a paper manufacturer and the mundane, but humorous things that happen in their office every day."

Not knowing why this particular show managed to catch his attention, and stumbling through my explanation, not sure of how to explain the ins-and-outs of television to someone like George with just a few sentences, I started to open my mouth and trip through a deepened explanation, when he cut me off.

"I was curious because of the name of the company "Dunder Mifflin" in this show The Office - as you call it - I find it to bring back smiles. Did you know, a dear friend of mine, through politics and war, was Mr. Thomas Mifflin who did indeed, manage to do quite a bit of good for our government."

George did it again. He some how managed to tie our lives together. Here I am, with a sitcom on television that I find to be quite humorous, and here he is, linking this silly show back to someone whom he revered in friendship. Mr. Mifflin was one of George's first four advisers and together they created the Board of War to further solidify the ever changing congressional committees that supplied their armies with instruction and discipline. With this board, they established a uniform system of diligence among the soldiers, a required drill system, and the art of maneuvering through war.

Though I was enjoying the evening thoroughly, and begged him to stay a little longer, George tucked me into bed and bid me good night as he wished for me to get more rest to aid in a healthy recovery. I'm sure he'll visit again tomorrow and we'll have much to talk about.

Mr. Washington, Wine and a Winter's Night

I sipped my wine as George's story further unraveled in my lap, like skeins of yarn draping themselves into a woven pile of reds and yellows, and hues of blues and purples, like emotions weaving through stories from years past. Once again, we resumed our evening affair with wine and a dimly lit room, filled with meager conversations and open hearts.

George informed me that although he once had feelings for a sweet and sassy, Sally Carry, he was unable to be more than her unrequited lover. Sally was promised to Mr. Fairfax, who won the war of love and captured the fair maiden before George could sweep in with his poetry and rescue her. So unbelievably romantic yet, terribly tragic in love, for even when George married Martha, he never forgot his love of Sally Carry.

After only a few short months of tobacco planting and farming, George was offered a handsomely rewarding position in the Army, by Colonel Edward Braddock, and it was just what he needed in order to take his thoughts off of his lost love, even though his mother threw a somewhat juvenile tantrum at his return to politics and wartime.

During this war with the French and Indians, George was able to somehow bring a community of soldiers to a solid foundation. Undisturbed by the prevalence of desertion, he created a regiment of men so strong in loyalty, that they overcame what was thought to be impossible tasks of fending off the enemies and taking new ground.

Our conversation lapsed as he chuckled with a distant memory, stirred by my mention of the nagging pain in my leg. I told him I needed a moment as my wine glass was empty and the best remedy for sore muscles, late at night, is a glass of warm red wine, and good company. He agreed and then proceeded to tell me of a few of his aches and pains of his yesteryears.

Apparently, his contraction of smallpox in his teenage years, proved to be his savior during the American Revolution, providing him with an immunity from contracting it later on in life. So many around him were passing into the afterlife due to the smallpox virus, and his life was spared. Not much after his escape from smallpox, he found himself suffering from both dysentery and tuberculosis, keeping him from his soldiers for nearly a year!

I must admit, that although I think it to be quite impressive that he was able to survive these terrible diseases, I thought perhaps, I could one-up him on the survival scale, laying on the line all the things which I too have survived. I don't want to say that I am in the habit of trying to one-up everyone - however, I am proud to say I have kicked more than my fair share of overbearing plagues as they were. In no particular order, here they are: Scarlet Fever, Meningitis, Pneumonia, severe Bronchitis, many Asthma attacks, and one scorpion sting to the big toe. Granted, I do believe I have had the opportunity for better health care than was available for him at the time, and yet, I still boast at my survival. Then, just when I thought I had the upper hand, he pulled out the trump card and said "Yes, I do believe you have presumably and delightfully escaped the grasp of death, but I, however, have escaped the bullets of war. I lost horses and perfectly good trousers to the ammunition from many an enemy, but never did I lose my head or my life."

After a good sigh on my part, and a coy wink on his, our conversation continued.

I was definitely surprised to hear that at age twenty-seven, George turned his back on the military, yet again, for what he thought was to be forever. He drank and gambled (but not to excess), and for sixteen years, lived a private life of marriage, farming and of subsequent normality. Since he married a widow, much responsibility came with his title of husband, as he became an overnight father to her two children. He went from being somewhat of a simple man, who was known for his success in military strategies and in planting and farming, to a man of stature who was now in charge of Martha's late husband's rather largess estate.

At this point, George glanced at the half-empty wine bottle and smiled. (I thought he was going to make some biting or silly remark on the fact that I seemed to be sipping through this wine rather quickly, but instead, he changed the topic completely.)

"Wine culture is of the utmost importance, Lauren, and yet, I had a time of it trying to initiate it into our Virginia lands" George said, with a flare about his hand gestures, as he scrutinized the label on my crimson colored wine bottle. He was asked to import European grapes for the start up of the new vineyards, however, as a planter who had laboriously studied the area and the climate and soil, he knew that what was indigenous to the Virginia soil grew best in that particular region, and henceforth, decided to do everything locally. He collected about two thousand cuttings from local vines, and made sure not to take samples that would ripen to early in the season.

I think I might have fallen for him if I had been young when he was young. Poetry, wine, his own vineyard, silly stories, six feet two inches in height, muscles binding his frame, large hands...and feet, blue-gray eyes seeing straight through me, high cheek bones, and thick red hair. Even closing my eyes and pausing to let my thoughts linger on his countenance, my heart flutters.

Oh, Mr. Washington, my love, why have so many centuries passed before we've gotten to know each other so deeply!

Mr. Washington Comes to Nashville

I must confess it.

George and I have been having an affair this past week.

He arrived at my house, polished and pristine, his arm outstretched and his collar starched, spine straight and presenting himself as quite the indispensable man. I figure he shall be staying for at least another week or so, as we have so much to discover of one another.

Though mostly we've been speaking of battles and Indian guides, love and massacre, desperation and disillusionment, we have, at times, spoken of some of the more indulgent activities in life. We've dabbled in the conversations of his enjoyment of plays and puppet shows, cockfights and horse races. George captivated my attention the moment he arrived, and continues to enamour me with his stories of a life I could never have lived and a world I can only strive to comprehend.

He was a hopeless romantic. I stole glimpses of the love letter that was tucked away amidst a maze of words. Within this letter was poetry. (Though not, perhaps, the most eloquent of writers, he at least was able to express his heart through the written word.)

Being a humble sort, we discussed his first attempt into the world of leadership. At such a young age of 22, he already designated a group of soldiers to be "The Virgina Regiment". The next logical step would have been to incorporate this regiment into the already exisitng, "regular establishment" of British soldiers. This would have allowed the British army to have a stronger assistance in the upcoming engagement of war against France, due to "The Virginia Regiment's" knowledge of the land. Had this fallen into effect, George would have been a regular colonel, taking on a leadership position worth thousands of pounds and much responsibility. As it were, however, he was notified that "The Virginia Regiment" was not to be incorporated but broken up due to the fact that he was a mere local and not of aristocratic stature. He would be allowed no title higher than "Captain" and thus, he promptly resigned from the army and decided to become a tobacco planter.

Something to ponder: If he had continued with his journey as a tobacco planter, would we be purchasing cartons of cigarettes and cans of tobacco with a printed logo of: "Washington Red, White and Chews" or "George Lights" instead of using currency with Washington's face on it to do the purchasing of today's tobacco?

A Red, White & Blue Endeavor

I have decided what my reading project is for 0-ten.

I realize that I have always been consumed with European history and find everything about the British monarchy and the traditions of their lifestyles completely fascinating. Every king and queen, every playwright and poet, every folklore and every tidbit of information I can gather on these dusty lives, I will.

This year, I am trading in the Tudors for the Johns, Georges and Jameses.

It's America's turn.

This year I am going to start reading the biographies of every United States president that has ever been in office. I have already ordered the biographies of the first five. Each book averages about 600 pages. With 43 presidents, including the president incumbent, that is a total of 25,800 pages of the lives of America's leaders.

I love biographies. I love history. I love reading.

This will be a red, white and blue endeavor indeed.

Stay tuned for Mr. Washington.