Tag: Sophia

I like horses. I do not like beer. The Budweiser Clydesdales are majestic.

I invariably felt a tinge of sympathy for Hoss Cartwright’s horse on BONANZA. Hoss was a big boy. I’m a big boy.

The seersucker suits and outlandish hats at the Kentucky Derby are spectacular.

Thus ends my lesson on Equine History In 20^th and 21^st Century America.

Questions?

Like many, our family gathers together to watch the Derby. Everybody picks “their” horse based on the name and the design of the jockey’s outfit.

In other words, we don’t know much of anything about horse racing.

As a broadcaster, I’m always impressed with the call of the Derby. “Down the stretch they come!”

My favorite horse name, ever, is Thunder Gulch. He won the 1995 Run For the Roses.

The Triple Crown is cool, but the Derby is the thing.

Kentucky is horse country. I was super-excited to visit our nation’s most famous horse-racing track.

Normally, I commit an unreasonable amount of research to our next adventure, so I can share everything I’ve learned with Sophia and Miles.

I didn’t do anything in preparation for our visit to Churchill Downs.

First of all, don’t be surprised. Churchill Downs doesn’t “do” visitors. It’s a working race track. They don’t do tours. A dress code is in place for some areas.

Don’t despair.

The Kentucky Derby Museum does everything, and more. You don’t have to go anywhere else. The museum and the track share a wall. It’s the same place. The same parking lot. The museum is too the left of the gigantic statue of Barbaro and the track is too the right.

Two different websites, but it’s no big deal.

The Kentucky Derby Museum is everything you could possibly want. They offer scheduled tours of Churchill Downs and the exhibits are top-of-the-heap-no-doubt-about-it-better-than-anything-you-can-imagine-wonderfully-fantastically-outrageously-ridiculously-good.

Really. I promise.

I incorrectly assumed Churchill Downs was perched in the middle of a horse pasture and I was expecting to park in a bluegrass-colored field.

Shame on me.

Churchill Downs and the Kentucky Derby Museum are situated in downtown Louisville. The parking lots are paved. Signage is everywhere.

Look up. The Twin Spires are historical landmarks and the first indication you’ve arrived in a place steeped in tradition. Excellence. Style. Magic.

The staff members are precisely what central casting ordered. Kentucky is not geographically in the deep south, but I felt like I was stepping on the porch at the family homeplace, nestled between moss-cloaked oak trees and magnolia blossoms.

The opening film is breathtaking. The screening room replicates the shape of the track and the images are projected 360 degrees. (It’s not particularly easy to explain. Make it work. It’s spectacular.) I wept. Sometimes, the moment is so good, the only appropriate response is tears of joy.

The exhibits are… well, I’ve used most of the adjectives in my wheelhouse. The exhibits are extraordinary. Interactive. Engaging. Educational. They’re fun!

The tour is brief, but spectacular. We stood on sacred racing ground, in the owner’s box (I don’t know what else to call it) right beside the track. Extended tours are available.

Track renovations are underway, so the view was mildly obstructed by machinery and mud. But, gimme a break. They have to do maintenance and upgrades and all that stuff. It’s part of being a responsible caretaker. Not a big deal.

Fact is, we ran out of time. We spent so much time reading and playing and learning on the first floor, we didn’t get to explore much of the second level. That’s completely on us, not them.

The bottom line: I like museums. I love museums.

I’ve been fortunate to visit many of the world’s great museums. My list of favorites includes the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York, the Louvre in Paris and the Smithsonian Museum of American History in Washington.

My mama took me to Washington, D.C. for July 4^th in 1976. We visited the National Air and Space Museum on its fourth day of existence.

I’m not easily impressed. I’m rarely dazzled. Vikki and I don’t typically visit the same place twice. The world is so big, we want to explore new places and embark on new adventures.

The Kentucky Derby Museum is easily in my top ten of the world’s museums. Bravo. I loved it. We loved it.

You don’t have to be a horse racing fan to appreciate the offerings. The experience will not be lost on any soul that has yearned for excellence and holds a deep affinity for tradition.

That said, we’ll return to the museum and Churchill Downs for the Derby.

I want to watch my wife in a sundress and a wide-brimmed hat she can’t wear anywhere else. I want to share a mint julep with our daughter. I want to help our son tie his bowtie to match his seersucker suit.

I’ll be there, too. Straw hat. Pocket watch. White shoes. Everything else, I’ll figure out between now and then.

I didn’t do haunted houses as a kid. I’m not especially fond of scary things. Then… I met Vikki. (For those of you playing along at home, I am Vikki’s husband.)

Vikki grew up going to haunted houses. Halloween is one of her favorite seasons.

Obviously, I wanted to impress the girl. I finally convinced myself that going to a haunted house is kinda like going to a show. It’s similar to attending a production of THE SOUND OF MUSIC.

They’re performers. Costumes. Makeup. Props. A blood-splattered clown isn’t really going to chase me with a chainsaw. We’re not really in danger.

Cool. That made sense. We visit haunted houses every October. It’s a fun time. (Plus… I get to hold hands with a ridiculously pretty girl. In the dark. Win-win.)

That said, I believe ghosts are real. Ghosts. Spirits. Entities. Genuine hauntings and haunted houses couldn’t be more diverse. Completely different.

In my research for our Louisville expedition, I discovered the existence of Waverly Hills.

The Waverly Hills Sanatorium opened in 1926 as a facility to treat the burgeoning tuberculosis epidemic in the Louisville area. In 1962, it was converted to a geriatric care center before being closed by the state of Kentucky in 1982.

It is widely recognized as one of the most haunted sites in the world and has been featured on GHOST HUNTERS, GHOST ADVENTURES and PARANORMAL LOCKDOWN, among others.

By all means, let’s go!

Paranormal tours are recommended for folks 13 and older.

Sophia and Miles, our bouncing baby girl and boy, are not yet 13. What to do?

We’ll go anyway. They’ll be with us. It will be fine. (They’ve begged to join us on our Halloween haunted house adventures for years and we’ve repeatedly denied their requests. We think they’re too young and we don’t want to scar them for life.)

Might as well start them out at one of the most famous haunted destinations in the world. (If they can handle a real-life encounter, Spookywoods or Woods Of Terror or wherever ought to be a breeze!)

I kid you not… clouds were closing in, rolls of thunder echoed in the distance and lightning was visible on the horizon.

The perfect night.

Reservations are a must and should be scheduled several months in advance.

There is no handicapped accessibility. The tour incorporates a seemingly endless number of stairs, there is no seating and it’s damn hot, even with an 8:00 PM start time.

(It’s an abandoned hospital. Set aside any notion of air conditioning.)

A paranormal tour lasts two hours. Go to the bathroom before you start. No food or beverages on the tour. No flash photography. No video or audio recording is permitted. You can have a small flashlight to help navigate the pitch-black stairwells.

Most importantly, don’t leave the group.

I think that does it for the rules.

Sophia and Miles were excited. And nervous. Vikki was eager to begin. I was curious.

The tour is cool.

We learned about Audrey & Lois, William & Sadie, Timmy and Sarah. We visited the morgue, the body chute, the operating room, the children’s ward, room 502 and the hyper-active fourth floor.

The big question: Did we see anything?

Sophia will tell you it was a ghost-free night.

Vikki didn’t encounter whatever she was hoping to find.

Miles is utterly convinced he saw faces and shadows.

As for me, well…

I watched a small, blue ball roll across the floor in the children’s ward.

The windows were knocked out long ago. Could it have been the wind? Perhaps, but I didn’t feel a breeze.

I saw two orbs of light on the fourth floor. A reflection? Maybe.

More than anything, I sensed a heaviness in the air. I didn’t like it. There is a darkness on the property.

I’m not necessarily scared of ghosts. They’re like people. Some spirits are good. Some spirits are not-so-good. Sometimes, they’re lost. Lonely. Maybe they enjoy where they are and they feel their work is not finished.

At Waverly Hills, I felt enormous sadness. Some bad things have happened in the crumbling rooms. Whether those incidents took place in a tuberculosis ward or a geriatric center or an abandoned building, I don’t know.

The building is falling apart. Graffiti decorates every wall.

From my understanding, the current owners are trying to raise funds to restore the structure.

To do what needs to be done, the project will require millions of dollars. Generating hundreds, or even thousands, of dollars through ticket sales and asking a group of volunteers to bring ladders and help hang sheetrock in the dining room won’t get it done.

It’s an enormous undertaking. No question.

Waverly Hills presents a gigantic opportunity for the right group. It can happen. I hope the property is restored.

For me, the tour was less than I hoped for. The evening is dictated by the personal experiences of the guide.

If Waverly Hills is one of the most haunted sites in the world, treat it as such.

It should be a world-class experience and it wasn’t. Fewer excuses and more mystery would be a good beginning. Waverly Hills should not be presented as a personal playground for adults searching for a hobby.

The massive thunder and lightning storm was an impressive bonus, but everybody won’t be afforded that luxury.

I’m glad we did it and the stories were terrific, but it’s unlikely I’d go again.

The Family Griffinski (Vikki, Sophia, Miles and Jeffrey) explored the Louisville, Kentucky area. Our familial galivanting was delayed more than a year due to the pandemic, but we finally made it.

Some families use designated vacation time to officially do nothing. That’s cool. Completely understandable.

Our vacations are packed. One adventure after another. They’re not for the weary.

The world is a big, wonderful place. Vikki and I believe part of our parental responsibility is to introduce Sophia and Miles to as much as we can so they can decide for themselves what they like and don’t like.

We do as much as we can in the time we have. Go big or don’t go.

Louisville.

The Ark Encounter wasn’t the only reason to visit Muhammad Ali’s hometown, but it was definitely the biggest.

Wow. I don’t know any other way to describe the structure. It’s huge. Gigantic. Mammoth. One could even reference the boat as “Biblically large.”

Parking was slow. Remember where you leave your vehicle. Signage is limited.

The line to have tickets scanned and receive admission wrist bands moved quickly. Everybody was super-polite. Again, directions and signage are limited. Keep your eyes open and use your common sense.

Transfer buses take everybody from the parking/ticketing area to the welcome center. The wait is minimal. Buses are constantly on the move.

For the most part, you’re on your own once you get to the welcome center. Signage is limited and not anything I’d call intuitive. People of all ages were running wildly about. Trying to figure out where to go and what to see was a proverbial crapshoot. Pick a direction and go.

Admittedly, there’s a lot to do: zoo, play area, zip lines, restaurant, retail store, performance/presentation area. And, of course, the ark.

We ventured outside and headed for a relatively small entrance on the far side on the welcome center marked with a rainbow arch.

Surprise! The rainbow arch is the only entrance to the ark. Fine. Off we go. I mean, you can see the ark. As I may have mentioned earlier, it is enormous. Seriously.

So you know, it’s a long walk. L.O.N.G. A few birds are caged in displays along the path, but little information is provided so it’s not always easy to know what you’re looking at.

The encounter is a confusing blend of Biblical fact and artistic license.

Is it a literal recreation or is this one man’s interpretation of Noah and the flood story? Hard to know…

Some elements of the story are presented as scientific fact. On the other hand… some elements of the flood story are unapologetically fictional. Names are assigned to Noah’s wife and his daughters-in-law. Those individuals are not named in the Bible and these identities are fictional. Just saying.

The lines intermittently move at a sloth’s pace. The first major stoppage is the line to board the vessel, which is delayed by the obligatory Ark Encounter photo opp. We did it. It was neat. We bought the photographs, but they are in desperate need of additional cameras and photographers.

Interior seating is plentiful throughout the encounter. Concessions and restrooms can be found on every level.

The displays.

They’re not bad. That said, it was not what we expected. Dinosaurs? On the ark? Where are the lions and tigers and elephants and giraffes? All the models were displayed behind bars and cages.

I appreciate the artistic freedom in any endeavor, and I’m especially forgiving with museums, but this didn’t work for me.

The Ark Encounter is not a literal recreation. Fine. Not a problem.

Facts are incorporated when they support the less-than-thinly-veiled evangelistic mission of the encounter while other facts are cast aside when they don’t support the vision of the institution.

Truth be told, nobody knows what happened on Noah’s ark.

Were the animals in cages or did God put every critter in hibernation-mode for the duration of the voyage?

Do the Biblical apologists have a monopoly on the truth? I don’t know.

I’ve long believed the heart of the story of Noah and the Ark is this: The Lord will save those who believe. The righteous will be lifted up. God’s grace is greater than His wrath.

But that’s just me and I am hardly an authority.

Exploring the ark is an all-day outing. We didn’t have the time nor the energy to visit the zoo nor any of the supplemental offerings associated with the Ark Encounter. It would take at least two days, if not three, to fully participate in everything.

The interior is dark and generating quality photographs is a challenge. The soundtrack is less-than-informative and leaves a lot to be desired.

We were tired and we finally gave up. We didn’t watch the movies. We missed the gospel music concert. We decided to find lunch on our own. (It’s not a complaint, but the Ark Encounter is so indescribably massive, fatigue is invariably the end result of the day’s activities.)

The retail store (gift shop) is extensive, but many of the shelves were empty. Perhaps it is an issue of supply, due to the lingering effects of the pandemic. We couldn’t purchase gifts for family and friends because so many items were unavailable. That was disappointing.

The line to view and purchase the official Ark Encounter photographs was ridiculously long and slow-moving. Oh, my goodness. That stretched my patience about as far as it could go.

One more thought…

I’m a Christian. I love Jesus. I treasure the story of Noah and the Ark.

Sometimes (too often) Christians carry an unreasonable and inappropriate sense of self-righteousness.

I was deeply troubled by the air of superiority that permeated every breath during our visit.

Christians should not – must not – traipse around the earth pretending to be better than everybody else. Not cool and woefully inaccurate.

I witnessed subtle finger pointing.

I heard whispered snickering.

I sensed the disdain that accompanies self-congratulatory eye rolling.

I wonder how Jesus feels about the modern-day Pharisees and Sadducees that so easily pass judgment upon those with whom they differ?

Life lesson: more compassion and less condemnation.

I’m on the home team and I felt surprisingly uncomfortable simply because I think differently.

I have news for the universe. Christians don’t have every answer and the notion we do is sorely misleading. We have Jesus. That is enough. We don’t have to know all the answers.

It was uncomfortably obvious that a great many on board the ark just outside Louisville, Kentucky wanted to share the moment only with those that believe exactly as they believe. That’s a shame. The world is full of endless variety. God loves the flowers and the weeds. Oh well, to each their own.

The Ark Encounter was not my favorite adventure. It is what it is. I think it is worth the visit, if for no other reason than to get some perspective on the shear size of the vessel God ordained for the survival of mankind.

I hope those who feel led to visit will be understanding and welcoming to every man, woman and child who desire to learn more about the story of Noah and the Ark.

Vikki and I have had a LOT of subsequent conversation about Noah and the Ark with Sophia and Miles.

We learned.

We remembered.

We were introduced to new ideas.

We were also reminded that God is big enough to handle whatever it might be.

Spring and summer have rolled into one gigantic boulder (think “Raiders Of the Lost Ark”) smashing almost every family adventure planned in the dark and cold of winter.

I’m disappointed.

The Ark Encounter in Kentucky. The Louisville Slugger factory. Waverly Hills Sanatorium. Churchill Downs.

Washington. U.S. Capital. The White House and the Pentagon. Mount Vernon. The Smithsonian. National Cathedral.

Chicago. Navy Pier. Millennium Park. Art Institute Of Chicago.

Williamsburg. Jamestown. Monticello.

Back home… The NASCAR Museum. The Downton Abbey exhibition at Biltmore. The day trips and local adventures.

All gone. With good reason, but… gone.

The pool is nice, but how many days can you spend in the water? I’m tired of cooking. I’m over virtual everything. We slept through THE MUPPETS at the drive-in movie.

Waiting and more waiting. College athletics. School as a teacher. School as a parent. We haven’t been to church in months.

My wife is a flight attendant. The airline industry is about as unstable as anything can be.

Our family handles everything better than I do. I worry. I’m frustrated. I’m irritated. They carry on.

There is also much for which we are thankful. Our house is a home. We’re able to go to work. The dinner table is not empty.

The goodness of life and the evanescent uncertainty of trials and tribulations are not lost in the heat and humidity of summer.

We spent last week at the beach. Yes, the beaches are open.

We go to the beach. Neon lights nowhere in sight. The beach. At least fifty yards between us and the next family. The beach. Sea shells. The beach. No life guards. The beach. Dolphins frolicking not too far from the shore. The beach. Sand castles.

A beach where everybody behaves. As best anybody can tell, it is life as normal, except we wore face masks at the grocery store. No big deal.

My heart and mind needed the time away from not being able to get away.

I believe the beach is a magical place. I have no desire to live at the beach. I don’t want the constant responsibility of home maintenance between waves of sun, sand and surf. I like my stuff and I shudder at the notion of our treasures sitting at the bottom of the ocean should a hurricane wash everything away. I cherish the visit, but I’m always ready to come home.

Our children believe in magic. They believe in fairies. They willingly commit to the notions that others label as impossible and unreasonable and outlandish.

They believe in the power of the unseen. God. Wind. Santa Claus.

We find four-leaf clovers. We watch shooting stars. Sophia and Miles believe.

Most years, we find more than our share of sea shells. At low tide, Sophia was exploring a sand bar and discovered a beautiful conch shell. Normally, all the shells we gather belong to the family. I told Sophia, “You found it. It’s yours. I think you should keep it in your room.” She was delighted.

I could tell Miles was disappointed. “I thought all the shells we find belong to the family…”

“Well, normally that’s right. But, Sophia found it by herself and I think it’s only fair if she keeps it in her room.”

Lord, how I hoped Miles would find a conch shell. I got up early and walked the beach. Lots of beautifulness, but no conch shells.

The last day. Sophia was riding waves. Vikki and I were playing in the sand. Miles was practicing his cornhole toss.

I could feel the footsteps behind us.

“Daddy! Did you put this under my chair?”

I didn’t flinch. “What, Miles? I didn’t put anything under your chair.”

He splashed between us and demanded to know. “Well, I was playing cornhole and I went to sit down. This was sitting under my chair. It wasn’t there before. Did you do it?”

A conch shell. Smaller than what Sophia found, but a conch shell.

“Miles! I knew you would find one. You can’t give up. You have to believe.”

He splashed out to Sophia to share the discovery with his sister.

Vikki looked at me. “Alright, how did you get that under his chair without him knowing?”

“I didn’t.”

It’s true. I had nothing to do with that conch shell. The beach is a magical place. Believe.

The moment was more than anything we could have found in Kentucky or Washington or Chicago or Virginia.

The goodness of life is ever-present. Especially in the unseen. Believe.