The Cannonball House

Today I forged the sweltering heat of Macon Georgia to see a Confederate War museum. Before leaving we checked the website to make sure it was going to be an official place, and not some bumpkin's back 40 with a flag on it. It appeared real enough so off we went. My step father doing the driving as my DUI is still valid even in the deep south.

After parking and finding the house, we realized that we had ran out of camera battery power. So off we went in search of some double A's. Which were very hard to find, especially since we were not natives of Macon.

Over and across many hills did we trek, until providence itself guided us to a local camera shop. Seven dollars and thirty minutes later we arrived back at our original destination.

The Cannonball House is famous and aptly named because during the Civil War two cannon balls were shot into Macon Georgia. And one rolled up into and destroyed the front of Judge Polk's house. Apparently it was rebuilt by the Daughters of the Southern Confederacy. A group who goes around to minor historical sights and fixes them up out of boredom, and their plotted escape from it. With the eventual goal of over charging yanks and lookey lous admission to poke and trod through southern antiquity.

There was nobody else around. Aside from the tour guide and my traveling companion, we were we abandoned. That should have been a tip off to the "treasures" that lie within. Only in hindsight can such a poverty of foresight be seen!

Twelve dollars and some short introductions later we began the tour. The tour guide was appropriately named Mary-Lou "A fine southern name", she said. A 76 year old woman who has been giving the unfortunate tour for unfortunately too long.

Mary Lou did her best to keep our attention and spirits high as she peddled little tidbits of a remarkably unremarkable blip in the ides of history. The house in total had 9 rooms. And was a lovely house. A giant parlor and grotesquely over sized dining room were the key features.

She spent about twenty minutes rambling on about nothing much in every room. We had slated the entire afternoon to tour most of the town of Macon. Little did we know it would take almost all of the allotted time to get through Mary Lou's speech.

She was a pleasant enough old gal. At times a younger and more focused train of thought would peer through her cobwebbed spiel. Only to be derailed by a combination of old age, and what I detected hatred at the story. A story that she herself had told thousands of times, to thousands of people.

I felt like I had to pass out at least 4 times during the tour. I made myself remain stable for Mary Lou's sake though. I didn't want to ruin this poor old woman's day, even at the expense of my very own.

I never asked my Step Father if he wanted to leave as badly as I did. But I'm sure while he was standing there next to me the same thoughts were going through his mind. Trying to figure out some polite way to leave, or hoping that one of those over-sized chandeliers would fall on her. Not that I wanted her to die, or give witness to that event. I just wanted some reason, any reason deservedly so to leave.

There was a moment a slight lapse of constitution where I caught myself day dreaming of shoving her into a small out of the way closet and running toward what was left of my day. All I could do was remain attentive and polite however. After all I have the rest of my life ahead of me. How many tours could Mary Lou really have left in her? I was supportive and attentive for her sake. Even asking questions about what she had just been saying. A technique I have picked up at work which makes people actually believe you're listening.

Finally at the end of the tour we got to the advertised War Museum room. Which was the entire reason we went all that way. It was an 8x8 foot room full of not one but two Confederate Uniforms, and three bullets. What a disappointment! What a disaster! What an afternoon!

On the way toward sunset and the car, I remarked to my traveling companion. "At least we got to meet Mary Lou." Who is by far the treasure of the Cannon Ball house. An idiosyncratic lady, on the obscure road of life.