On January 9, Cathy and I visited Monticello, the famous home of Thomas Jefferson, the third president of the United States. He died on July 4, 1826, so he wasn't home. I drove 160 miles out to Cathy's trailer in Scottsville, we stayed overnight in Charlottesville, and the next day we drove up the beautiful 'Little Mountain' which I believe is the translation of Monticello.
The people were very picky about everything inside--seeing that it was over 200 years old, they wanted to be sure they preserved the interior. They didn't allow chewing gum inside, flash photos, couldn't touch anything, no explosives or cattle inside, and once the tour guide even told a gentleman he couldn't lean on a wall. I got lucky on the questions the tour guide asked the group, and a few times I'd ask her a question and she'd say,"I was going to bring that up later". So, as they say, I was 'stealing her thunder.' Cathy was with the group while I lagged behind, jabbering with the tour guide about Mr. Jefferson when, with my clumsy big shoes, I accidentally kicked the snot out of a 200 year-old chair! Panicking, I ran up and hid behind Cathy and said,"They're going to beat me up! I kicked a chair!" Cathy tried to protect me but unfortunately I was bigger than her. The tour guide didn't say much about the chair. The chair survived and they didn't have me lynched. Lynchburg was 64 miles
south.
>Mr. Jefferson was, well, weird. One thing that puzzled everyone was that Jefferson was hopelessly in debt when he died, but owned a few million acres of land he refused to sell. Seeing as he was one of the founding fathers of the country, it's no wonder Americans are notorious for overspending.
After the tour, Cathy and I sat in the car, in the parking lot, once again, steaming up the windows. I felt like we were defacing an historical landmark. Life was so good when we were together. Cathy said she felt like we were young lovers. I felt as if I'd never dated before. We were both like teenagers in love.
