Chuck Visits the Enchanted Woods

    You don't have to go all the way to California to have a good time. A perfect place to spend a few days is in the nearby state of Delaware, in beautiful Brandywine Valley, at Winterthur. 

      Winterthur is the former home of Henry Francis du Pont. It comprises a 60 acre naturalistic garden, over 1,000 acres of rolling hills, meadows and woodlands, 25 miles of well-marked paths and trails, and lush gardens. It will be near impossible to see everything there is to see there in a single day--his house or rather his mansion which is now the museum, the library, and all the grounds.  

        So we decide to spend a few days and do the typical tours, eat out in the local restaurants, play a bit of tennis, and . . . 

        . . . see The Enchanted Woods. I was there before, years ago, and remember the magic of it, especially the mist coming out of the giant mushrooms. That's what I remember most of all. Pretty cool. I don't care if the woods was designed for children (I'll admit it.) Heck, we all have a bit of the child in us. 

        Once I describe the woods to Chucky and all the cool things he is going to see and smell, he lets out a big meow (well, as big as he can meow), which means (I think) he can't wait to see it either. 

        I am totally excited the morning we park the car, take the path around the back of the mansion, and head in what we hope is the right direction. 

        "Be prepared to be amazed," I say to Dan and Chuck. 

        Dan is looking around. Chuck is sniffing. Of course. But they're skeptical. How wonderful can these woods really be?

        We see the sign.

      In some ways, I feel like Dorothy following the yellow brick road into the land of Oz. I love that there is a brick pathway (not yellow but a soothing mauve color) to follow that is cleverly designed.

     We are surrounded by lush greenery. It is a beautiful morning. Not too hot. Chucky is almost grinning (if cats could grin.)

     He rushes up ahead to sniff a gorgeous baby angel statue holding a swan that sits along the pathway. 

    

     We pass a large boulder that sits upright with a quote from Shakespeare, touting the lessons learned from nature:

     

     And then we come to the circle of word stones that capture the last and most important part of the nursery rhyme -- "Row, row, row your boat, Gently down the stream, -- Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, Life is but a dream."

         

   

        The mood is set for what follows. Dan and I find a looking glass and dare to look through, which is, of course, the most important part.

      The Enchanted Woods await us. 

       There is a magic wishing well. If you throw a penny in, your wish will come true.

   

       We spy a small thatched cottage that is empty now, but we suspect that when night comes, the cottage fills with goblins and fairies and all kinds of magical creatures.  We dare not go inside, fearing that once inside, you are changed forever into one of those magical creatures.

       We find another larger rough hewn house of logs with a thatched roof with miniature furniture that seems to be a welcoming place. We step inside. Chucky is all too eager to sniff around and check out the furnishings.

     I'm  in seventh heaven, walking around, inspecting, experiencing the magic of this place. Always keeping my eye on Chucky who is loping along beside us, until he isn't. We don't notice he's missing right away. Later we suspect it happens when we spot the giant bird's nest with the three gigantic bird eggs.

       I assume the rascal cat will want to see the eggs. That's when I notice he's missing. Gone. Vamoosed.  I feel like the Bill Murray character in Groundhog Day, doomed to repeat the same scenario yet again.

        "He could be anywhere."

        "He probably stuck to the path," Dan says, reasonably.

        "But there's no guarantee of that," I argue unreasonably.

        "I can go look back and you can keep on looking ahead . . ."

        It sounds like a good suggestion, but I remember the startling statistics of this place--the vastness of these woods. Chuck could literally be anywhere. If I lose Dan in the process, it will be doubly worse.

         "He can't have gone far. Let's stick together."

         We don't separate into two search parties. Up ahead, the cutest mushroom cottage with a thatched roof sits on the edge of the path. But there is no joy in my heart. All I can think about is NO CHUCK. 

        "Chuck."

         Nothing. 

         Even the birds have stopped tweeting.

         I'm tempted to return to the wishing well and throw a penny in. Make a wish--Find Chucky. But I don't have a penny on me. Only my darned credit card. Dan has left all his change in the car. 

         Dan, forgetting for the moment the seriousness of the search, spots the mushroom cottage and poses in front of it. 

          "This is something," he says.

        "Is he in there? Chuck?"

        Dan disappears inside. And I wait. Strange thoughts run through my mind. Maybe this is a magic mushroom. Once you go inside, you can't get out. You get sucked in somehow or you fall through a secret hole in the stone floor. 

        Finally, Dan appears and waves me to come over. He puts his fingers to his lips. 

         There the rascal cat is. Cuddled on the floor of the mushroom cottage. Fast asleep. His face on his paw. Totally oblivious to the agony he has put his mom and dad through. 

         Let it go, I tell myself. 

         Dan exits the mushroom. "Maybe we should just leave him there for awhile. The poor kid looks exhausted."

          We finished walking around The Enchanted Woods. The joy comes back. Chucky is safe. 

        

        Somehow, without the patter of little paws running beside us, the Enchanted Woods just isn't the same.

Chuck and the Great Escape As the Cat in the Hat

Despite how it might sound, Chuck is not on the road 365 days a year. When we’re home, the chuckster likes nothing better than to lounge around with his “sibling cats” and he’ll either be chowing down at his favorite food bowl or snoozing the day away. Trust me, you want to be a cat in my house.

But like most kids, Chuck needs fun!

Every morning he rolls down the stairs with that peculiar expression on his face--his whiskers in a snarl, poised with an expectation on his lips. He doesn’t have to SAY anything. IN HUMAN WORDS, I mean. A disgruntled MEOW will suffice. He’s bored and ready for action.

Halloween was no exception. In fact, that day was worse. Chuck is no dummy. He can read a calendar. He knew what pumpkins and Mums on the front porch meant. He knew that when I lugged out the giant bowl filled with chocolate candy and set it on the table in front of the front door, who the bags of candy were for. Trick or treaters.

He wanted to know how he fit in.
 That brings me to the great escape. And the almost costume. Yeah, yeah. I thought of getting Chuckie a costume. First, I posted the question on my facebook page, hoping for inspiration. Then I went to the Chuckster himself-- Who do you want to be?

A dog? That was the obvious undercover choice. Chuckie shook his head.

Felix the Cat. I figured a popular cartoon character would be a possible fit for the chuckster who often saw himself on the big screen. But Chuck shook his head. PETULANTLY.

The Purina Cat Chow mascot, I offered next, thinking that starring in commercials and seeing your face on cat food cans and bags was a worthy choice for a Halloween costume. But Chuck again shook his head.

I put my hands on my hips. Okay. I had to try harder. Maybe Chuckie was thinking more high brow--literary cat character. Grimbold, the black “prince of cats,” I explained to Chuckie, making my voice sound inviting, who led a goatherd on many cool adventures in Grimbold’s Other World by Nicolas Stuart Gray, but even as I said it, I could see it was way too obscure for my modern Chuck.

Okay, okay. How about Bagheera? A PANTHER.

Now here, Chuck’s eyes lit up.

He was in Rudyard Kipling’s The Jungle Book, I added for good measure. Some interest because Chuck paced the great room, but when he returned, he plopped down in front of me, disappointed still.

Eureka, who was Dorothy’s cat in the Wizard of Oz. You love to watch the Wizard of Oz on television, I reminded him.

He eyed me suspiciously.

So what? So what if she’s a girl? Does that really matter?

It did. Macho Chuck was not about to put on a girly cat costume.

I had one more idea. Okay, Chuck, this is it. You like to wear hats, right. How about DR. Seuss’ Cat in the Hat?

Yes! He went for it. And . . . all went well, the trick or treating part, the wearing of the hat part, until he was recognized.

Well, let me back up. Chuck donned his costume. He went out trick or treating around the neighborhood. As the Cat in the Hat. Then he was recognized. Not as Hot Blogging Chuck. Oh, no. As a CAT dressed up as the Cat in the Hat. The mere fact that it was a CAT trick or treating and not a KID, threw the rest of the KIDS into a near state of panic.

The tiny trick or treaters started chasing Chuck down the street. They wanted a closer look. Chuck dropped his candy and lost his hat. The poor kid, I mean CAT.

It all happened so fast I wasn’t even able to snap a photo for the blog.

Later, after Chuck calmed down, he agreed to pose with his favorite Cat in the Hat book.

Needless to say, no more trick or treating for the belly boy.

EVER!