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Our Vacation to Stockbridge.

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Our Vacation to Stockbridge It all started when my mother, believing a relaxing, educational weekend getaway to be important for the bonding of the family, began looking at a few brochures. The family, including myself, my father, brother Jay, aunt Joanne and uncle Jimmy, unwittingly put our confidence in my mother's judgment. Finally, she chose the small town of Stockbridge, "The friendly village of paradise." Located in Western Massachusetts, the quaint town of Stockbridge offered such sights as art museums, Norman Rockwell's house, and other historical homes. A couple weeks before Christmas, it would be the perfect little vacation. Early Friday morning, we packed everything into the car and started out on the three-hour trip to Stockbridge. Upon arrival, we found the town to be so small it makes Andy Griffith's Mayberry look like a metropolitan. The buildings on Main Street consisted of a mill, general store, glassblowing shop, and a small barely sanitary inn. We checked in at the inn to find that we were the only guests there. Feeling that a pleasant drive through the countryside was in order, my mother and aunt dragged us into the car. ...read more.


After breakfast, we drove out into the countryside a little to see the homes of some famous, late 19th century artists, whose names I can't quite recall. One name I do recall is that of the sculptor Daniel Chester French, whose small house is now a museum. At the door, we were given our customary tickets and quietly pushed along through the house. Several guides were posted at certain rooms throughout the house. All the rooms were decorated in absurd Mexican colors apparently for the holiday. We asked one of the guides why this was. She replied, "Well, Daniel French was never home for Christmas, but had he been, we think this is the way he would have decorated his house." We contemplated the crazy bright decorations for a moment and moved on. We came to the end of the museum and I proceeded to out the back door. My mother and aunt wanted to examine some artifacts of the great sculptor more closely and they forced the rest to stay and learn, but I unwittingly continued out the back way. ...read more.


My brother and I ordered the veil Parmesan. Other orders included spaghetti, muscles, and scrod. The time was seven o'clock. We waited quietly for our meal to come. When it didn't come, we waited some more. Finally, we confronted the waitress as to why our meal was not yet prepared. "Well, the cook is very busy at the bar. We can't remember when we've been this busy," she answered gesturing toward another room. I took a peep at the bar to find a grand total of three men sipping drinks and swapping stories with the cook/bartender. Our meals finally came. The time was eight thirty. It didn't take me long to see that while my brother Jay and I ordered the same thing, we were not served the same thing. Jay was served some miserable excuse for veil. It was rather hard to tell what my black goo was supposed to be. I don't believe that anyone else enjoyed the look or taste of their meals either. That night, we slept as well as can be expected in our freezing rooms. The next day we departed for home with a feeling of relief that this...interesting...vacation had come to an end. ...read more.

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