Tag Archives: Washington DC

May I Interest You in a Cherry Blossom?

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Is there a better way to celebrate the recent sunny spring weather than a trip to the National Mall on a Friday afternoon? Thad and I thought not, as did half of the population within a fifty mile radius of the Washington Monument, as well as the gobs of families and school groups in town for Spring Break. Why, it must be time for the Cherry Blossom Festival- and not any festival, but the 100th anniversary of the cherry tree gift from Japan.  With highs pushing 80 this last week and Thad home a bit early, we figured we too would join the masses of humanity and view the spectacles that are the pink and white blossoms surrounding the Tidal Basin.  (The sign toting folks dismissive of both global warming trends and the scientist who track them just needed to see my mid-March sunburn to know that climate change is no mere theory!)

After hopping off the Metro at Smithsonian Station, we were sucked in to the flow of people blossom-bound. The trees were gorgeous and definitely photo-worthy, but with amateur photographers set up roughly every three feet, I felt like every step I took was directly into someone else’s shot.  We quickly decided the best option was to find an empty spot of grass along the basin and enjoy the flowers (and excellent people watching!) from a stationary position.

Watching pretty pose after pretty pose, Thad could no longer contain himself. He too wanted in on the posed photo action. It appears he may need to spend less time studying Chinese and more putting in some quality time with Tyra Banks and back episodes of America’s Next Top Model.  He is definitely does not know the secret of “smizing.” (That would be “smiling with your eyes” in Tyra-talk.)

An hour of critiquing the various outfits that meandered by us (between the middle aged coupled dressed like they were straight out of a Jane Austen novel strolling along the basin to the man in the pink shirt and pink tie that I can only imagine he purposefully matched to fit with the blossom theme, there was more than enough fodder for me to keep up a E!News-worthy running commentary) we decided it was probably time to call it a day. By that point, we had not only our required floral photos, but a few additional ones of Thad, the likes of which may never have been taking before.  Weaving in and out of the masses, avoiding the click of the ubiquitous cameras, we slid out of the throngs and made a break for the Foggy Bottom Station.

Between the blossoms, spring break and our recent spate of stupendous weather, DC is bursting at the seams with people.  It is no understatement to say we breathed a sigh of relief as the thin door to the mo-partment closed behind us Friday night, shutting out the craziness brought on by the perfect-storm of spring-y-ness.

 

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Country Mouse Gets Her Groceries Delivered

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As I sit in my mo-partment on this dreary, drizzly day, awaiting the arrival of my groceries, I am reminded of a storybook from my childhood.  It was one of those fabulous Little Golden Books, the ones with the hard cardboard covers and the golden spines covering their bindings. (I remember having piles of those books, my favorites being The Tawny Scrawny Lion and The Large and Growly Bear.  This may date me a bit, but I even remember when Little Golden Books were the prizes that came with Happy Meals at McDonald’s.  I do believe there were several copies of The Pokey Little Puppy scattered throughout our house that can be directly credited to the Golden Arches. There was none of the shoddy plastic toys that end up crammed under the seats of a minivan or that fall apart before the kid even gets a chance to eat the now requisite four slices of apple that are included in each and every McMeal of happiness. Little Golden Books were the way to go!)

But I digress.  The sky is gray. Misty moisture hangs in the air. Groceries are to be delivered soon. All of this together makes me think of those picture books- namely The City Mouse and the Country Mouse.  The basic premise of this classic tale is that these mice switch places, the city one going to the countryside and the country mouse going to the big city. While on their little vacations, each mouse discovers that he is best suited for the environment from which he came, although they do each embrace a bit of adventure along the way.

The rodent-riddled story comes to mind today not because I mouse-ily wish to retreat to my former surroundings, but because as I sit here awaiting the arrival of my milk and eggs and bread, it is the perfect time to ponder the many ways that city life in the DC Metro area is different from the more suburban one I had living in the Treasure Valley.

Being car-less is probably the most overriding change I’ve experienced in our move across the country. Nearly all of the other changes are predicated upon this one omission. Not having a vehicle of our own means:

*Public transportation is the way to roll. In the last six months I have ridden a significant portion of the DC Metro lines. I’ve spent countless hours on the blue line shuttling into the District and back, enjoyed numerous monument-filled crossings of the Potomac on the yellow line and ventured into Maryland several times on the red. Professional sporting events have led me to brave both the green line and the far reaches of the blue, while the lure of tasty food has sent me trekking up the orange line. While possibly a nightmare for the colorblind, the rainbow-hued map of the Metro system has served me well for the last half year.

*Grocery shopping is done online and the bags of food are delivered directly to my front door. There is no more squeaky, wiggle-wheeled cart to push up and down the aisles of my nearby Albertson’s store, no more Sunday night runs to get sandwich fixings for the upcoming school week and no more dropping by the store on the way home from work to get a forgotten ingredient or two for that night’s dinner. Online grocery shopping may take a bit more planning, but it also means I can take care of my grocery list make-up-less and in my pajamas. (Okay, to be fair, if you grocery shop at Walmart, there are many a customer there who are shopping in a state that makes them appear as if they just rolled out of bed, but I can do so with dignity  in the privacy of my own little home!!) Not only is shopping done in the cozy comfort of the mo-partment, but the scheduled delivery means that Thad’s copious amounts of Diet Mountain Dew magically appear at my door without me having to haul them myself.

*Our knowledge of local car rental companies is quickly expanding.  Without a car, but living in a place where there are no less than a million historical sites to be visited, long weekends require personal transportation. Since we are on the east coast for a limited amount of time, we try to take advantage of every opportunity to visit the parks and monuments in the area. This means that the Enterprise and Hertz websites and I have become very comfortable with one another.  I can reserve the best deal, with discounts added, in a matter of minutes without having the search endlessly for just the right ride. Thad has become buddies with the manager of one nearby rental company, always stopping to chat with him before embarking on the circle of safety required before the car keys are handed over.

The transition from Idaho life to Virginia life isn’t nearly as dramatic as the ones faced by the country mouse and the city mouse, but the idea that such a change requires a one to develop a different set of coping skills still holds true. In Idaho, I probably would have scoffed at someone telling me that they had their groceries delivered, but living on the ninth floor of an apartment building without access to a car, such a proposition suddenly makes a bit more sense.

I can only imagine what this American mouse will be blogging about in six more months when Chinese mouse’s world becomes her own!

Theodore Roosevelt Meets LMFAO

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The arrival of weekend meant books being shelved and the commencement of fun. (Okay, that isn’t entirely accurate.  Rather than putting the books away, like the uber-organizational nerd that I tend to be, I wanted to get my stuff put together before the second week of classes began. Part of this process included taking my textbooks to Kinkos to have them re-bound.  Rather than the regular, tight glue binding that they came with, I wanted them cut apart and put into spiral bindings.  This is so much better for filling in page after page in my workbook!) The fun part is accurate though.

Since Six Flags won out in a battle for weekend amusement a few weeks ago, this weekend went to the consultation prize- Theodore Roosevelt Memorial Island (hereafter known as TRMI). While it may have been the runner up in a fight between roller coasters and monuments, TRMI came in at the top of the list for great sight-seeing in the fall.

First on the list for Sunday was a quick jaunt up the road from the Rosslyn Metro to pho.  It just isn’t weekend here without a bowl of pho and a Coke (or Vietnamese iced coffee if you are Thad.) While the meat options include tripe and tendon, I stick with the brisket and flank.  Thad uncomplainingly eats anything there as long as he can smother it in Sriracha sauce first.

With our full bellies sloshing with pho broth, walking off lunch sounded like a good plan.  TRMI is only about a mile from where we were at, so out we headed.  Early November is a beautiful time to visit the memorial.  Sunday was sunny without a cloud in the sky, so it was perfect day for our visit. The trees are currently showcasing their fall collection, making the crisscrossing paths into runways fit for New York Fashion Week.

The piles of leaves covering the pathways lent themselves well to a little “Party Rock Anthem” action, as I found myself “shufflin’, shufflin’, shufflin’” through their crispy, crunchy heaps.

While I didn’t strap myself to a piece of metal that shoots its occupants from zero to sixty in a matter of seconds like I did at the last park I visited, this park had a different set of thrills with the rainbow colored leaves slowly drifting down from the trees as we meandered our way across the island. Our visit to TRMI was a great way to welcome the crispness of fall during our year in DC!

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Hawk Eyes are Mine, At Last!

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No lotion or face cream. No make-up. No hairspray or mousse. No jewelry.  No perfume.

So, let’s get this straight. You want me to not only leave the mo-partment in this condition, but to actually venture out into public?!? As if enduring five weeks of my geek-tastic glasses wasn’t torture enough, the last set of preparations for LASIK included a long list things to not do or wear. (The no jewelry is obvious to me, as it could get in the way during the procedure, but I had to ask about the lotion/hairspray/perfume edict.  Apparently, the smells can somehow affect the way the laser works (??). A few days ago I would have written this off as medical drivel, but after inadvertently discovering that several of my required eye drops taste badly enough that I want to drink mouthwash, even though they’ve never touched my tongue, I am willing to believe nearly anything when it comes to this process.)

LASIK day started early, with a fresh-faced exit out the door by a little after 6AM. We were in Rockville within the hour. Upon check-in, I had to provide my date of birth and in turn I was given a name tag that was to be prominently displayed at all times.  While I sat fidgeting nervously in the waiting room, Thad took the opportunity to check out the snack basket and inspect the mini-fridge for goodies, while at the same time pointing out the appropriateness of the commercial for blinds (as in curtains) that played several times on the TV.

Soon enough my name was called.  Thad and I went to a small exam room at the back of the office where I again had to give my date of birth.  This time, rather than an official looking sticker to adorn my outfit, I was given something much better- Valium!  (It seemed like a good idea, but I am not sure it kicked in until the ride home.  Two might have been a better way to go.)

After a few more minutes of sitting around, the surgeon came in and promptly asked for my date of birth. Verifying that the chart in front of him and the person in his chair were one and the same,  we then went over last minute details and walked through the steps of the procedure.  I was given some classy blue covers to go over my shoes (making me feel like I was back in the Chengdu dentist’s office) and a lovely matching cap to cover my hair. (Just wait- these surgical accessories are going to be all the rage on the spring runway in Paris!)

With these various steps out of the way, Thad and I were taken to the waiting room right outside the surgical suite. (I like the way they refer to it as a suite. It sounds so soothing and comforting and not like somewhere I am going to meet my Final Destination demise.)

Soon enough, it was time to head in.  Thad couldn’t come in with me, but instead was at the window to the surgical suite, watching all the juicy goodness as it took place. With little preamble (other than once again stating my date of birth), I laid down on a medical bed and things started happening all around me. My fashionable blue cap doubled as a tissue holder, being stuffed with Kleenex to soak up the massive amount of liquid that was soon to be squirted into my eyes.  I spent the next few minutes looking at various green dots with my right eye, trying not to freak out as a speculum was placed around my eye and then attempting to keep my squawks of discomfort to a minimum as the surgeon put a suction cup on my eye and proceeded to cut a flap into the corneal tissue. Several times throughout this procedure the doctor asked if I was breathing.  At one point I think I replied with a very polite “No thank you.” Breathing required movement and there was no way I was going to make the slightest twitch while a laser was pointed at my eyeball! As he released the speculum from my right eye, I felt my whole body relax for just a second and I had the chance to fill my lungs with oxygen briefly, until I realized we now go to go through the whole process again, this time on my left eye.

Having successfully survived the corneal flap cutting stage, I then stood up and walked/was walked a few feet away to a second bed in the suite.  This was where the real sizzling action took place!  Starting again with Ol’ Righty, I watched the pretty green, flickering light, as red ones danced around the edges of my vision.  During the seventeen seconds of laser-ing, the room filled with a lovely scent that one of the nurses had told me to expect and which she chalked up to the gasses used by the machine, but I am pretty sure it was the scent of my eye being seared by the laser! This laser reshaping of my eye was much less uncomfortable than the flap-cutting portion of the day, so with a bit more breathing, I made it through the fifteen seconds needed to then correct my left eye.

With the laser put away, the surgeon placed the flaps back over my eyes with what appeared to be a Q-tip, gushed my eyes with liquid once more and it was over!  As I stood up, ready to be led into the recovery room, not in pain, but a little disoriented, I was greeted with a camera!  Apparently, the staff at the medical clinic think that directly post-procedure is the best time for a photo op with the surgeon. ( I was promised a copy of this picture via email, so if/when it comes, I will add it here. I am terrified to imagine what it looks like, as I was on Valium, just had my eyes repaired via laser and was more than a bit disoriented at the moment.)

Thad met me in the recovery room, where we spent a total of about five minutes. I downed a couple Tylenol PMs, took my goodie bag of eye drops and bedtime eye covers and we were done.

(Here is a video, not of my surgery, but of one very much like mine.  It is a bit juicy and not for those with weak stomachs.  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qoH0VHrOM9A )

Leaving the building, I felt pretty good, but it didn’t take long for the burning to emerge. By the time we got home, my eyes felt like a Thailand sunburn after months of overcast Chengxian skies. Thad filled my eyes with “comfort drops” (I have no idea what was in them, possibly puppy tears,  but they were liquid bliss, instantly relieving the burning sensation in my eyes.) With my ridiculously dorky eye covers taped to my face, I gently hit the pillow, only waking to re-“comfort drop” a couple of times, until mid-afternoon.

With a reading ban in place, (only once did I try to get away with it, tempted by a catalog that came in the mail, for which Thad promptly reprimanded me) I spent my waking hours watching a marathon of Cops on TV and blinking my way  through my assigned regimen of eye drops.

Twenty-four hours post-op, I tested at nearly 20/20 vision, with my left eye just a bit behind my right in the healing process. My crazy eye drop schedule will continue for a few more weeks, I have to tape the plastic goggles to my head each night for the next five days and the eye make-up prohibition continues to be in place for another week, which may kill me since I start Chinese classes on Monday (eye shadow, eye liner, mascara, oh my!) but otherwise, I am pretty good to go.

No contacts. No saline solution. No glasses.  No more four-eyed blindness!

The eyes of a hawk have finally become mine.  Success!

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Pick a Park- Culture or Amusement?

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Last weekend, Thad and I decided that this weekend we would take in some of Washington’s cultural magnificence.  Not far from the Rosslyn Metro station (which is just a few stops  up from us on the blue line) is the footbridge that leads to the Theodore Roosevelt Island National Memorial. We figured with the fall foliage out in full force, it would be a beautiful way to spend an afternoon.

But then option #2 came up: Six Flags with John and Erin!

Well, there was little debate to be had- if rides are an option, decision making is unnecessary.

The weather has definitely cooled off here lately, which created a bit of a conundrum in my mind.  I associate amusements parks with broiling summer days, finding a balance between comfortable yet cool clothing and the constant need for gallons of liquid refreshment. Pulling into a parking lot with brightly colored roller coasters on an overcast horizon and getting out of the car while pulling on a hoodie all felt a bit perplexing.

The day may not have been filled with a cacophony of fall colors, but it was filled with rainbow-hued roller coasters christened after super heroes.  (That, and one ridiculously dizzying spin on the teacups!)

John and Erin are well aware of my fear of heights. This became much glaringly obvious after they watched me crab-crawl, terrified,  across the glass floor of the 1,109 foot high Macau Tower a few years ago.  What they didn’t know is that my terror translates into a running scream/dialogue on rides.  It usually starts on the uphill climb with an announcement about the mistakes that have been made and then quickly morphs into a series of “Oh no!”’s and “I think I’m going to die”’s and a few “Oh my gosh!”’s.  The cries of fright are always G-rated, as I wouldn’t want to offend those eight year olds that are gleefully enjoying the ride of their lives. (Standing in line, waiting to willingly enter into these death defying situations, I always try to convince myself that it can’t be that bad when kids who only meet the height requirement by mere centimeters are blithely hopping on for a round of fear and fun.)

John, Erin, Thad and I spent the day, making the rounds to each of the roller coasters, making our way to a few spinning rides as well.  From Joker’s Jinx (terrifying start!) to Batwing (longest line ever!), rides were ridden and death was defied. (Disclaimer: I didn’t attempt all of them. I spent part of the day as a happy viewer, allowing the others to experience the terror without me.)

When the mercury hits sixty, I don’t normally think of amusement parks, but it turned out to be great, until the sun went down, when it quickly cooled off.  It wasn’t the rapidly chilling air that made me ready to call it a day though.  With Halloween just a week away, Six Flags is right in the middle of their Fright Night season, which means with the setting of the sun comes the appearance of costumed creatures, many of them wielding chainsaws!  I will nervously get on a speeding hunk of metal that shoots me into the air, turns upside down, twirls in corkscrews and then comes to a whiplash inducing, screeching halt, but I can’t handle the costumed creatures.  It was time to bid adieu to the park and head home and soothe the frazzled nerves created by perilous rides and creepy creatures.

Culture-smulture! Maybe next weekend we’ll make that trip to the Theodore Roosevelt Island Memorial and the lovely dancing leaves of fall!

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A Moving Monument

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This weekend is a big weekend here in the DC area, and not just because of the likely appearance of lovely Ms. Irene and her hurricane force winds and torrential rain.  Unless you have been living under a rock, or a giant granite monolith for that matter, you know that Sunday is the official dedication of the Martin Luther King Jr. Memorial in downtown Washington DC.

This monument is a beautiful addition to those already in our nation’s capital.  As guests approach the memorial from Independence Avenue, they are greeted by a massive stone wall, representing the “mountain of despair,”  which has its middle cut out and pushed forward into the center of the memorial space.  The middle piece is a physical manifestation of the “stone of hope.”  It is on this slab of granite that Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. is carved in a spectacular fashion.   This nod to his most famous speech, “I Have A Dream” is not necessarily subtle, but it’s obvious reference doesn’t create a feeling of amateurism either.  Many visitors will be coming to this monument after having walked up the National Mall, through the series of monuments that ends with Abraham Lincoln’s, where a tile is set into the steps commemorating that same speech.  People can go from standing on the exact spot where the speech was given to then venturing  across the road and literally stepping into the words of that stirring oration, bringing not only its author, but its message to life.

Once inside the monument, the sides of the walls facing the Tidal Basin are covered with quotes, in chronological order, from MLK Jr.’s lifetime.  Visitors move around the monument in a counter-clockwise direction, working their way through Dr. King’s experiences as a leader of the Civil Rights Movement. This loop passes back by the “stone of hope,” where guests have a chance to really take in the majesty of the thirty-foot statue of Martin Luther King, Jr.  The visage of the statue is one that is both prideful and stern at the same time.  It seems to radiate a sense of pride in how far his fight has come since the early 1960’s, but there is also a feeling that there are battles to still be fought when it comes to people being judged by their character, which they choose and create, rather than on traits with which they are born and have no control over.  It is standing at this grand effigy that is bursting forth from a slab of granite that my favorite allusion to King and what he stood for is quietly played out. King’s sculpture looks out over the Tidal Basin, right into the Jefferson Memorial.  As a major player in the writing of the Declaration of Independence, Jefferson’s words “…all men are created equal” are perfect reflections of what King was trying to accomplish through his works.

While the monument doesn’t official open until Saturday, with the dedication taking place Sunday, I had the magnificent opportunity to go down and volunteer on Tuesday, the preview day.  My volunteer duties were very much like what I did at numerous Red Cross events back in Idaho.  I, along with Earl, my wonderful partner for the day, stood on the sidewalk offering commemorative bookmarks, free water and a chance to rest to the heavy stream of people headed towards the monument from the National Mall. We were there to not only pass out our goodies, but help by providing directions, information and help when needed.  Earl and I started out duties at 8AM and had a really great day together.  It was sunny and warm (I was chastised numerous times by old women who wanted to know why I wasn’t wearing a hat!), but we did our best to great each person headed up towards the monument and welcome them to DC’s newest addition. (It was also wonderful to talk to these same people as they made the return trip.  I loved asking them what they thought after their visit. Out of the hundreds, probably thousands, of people I spoke with on Tuesday, I have to say that well-received is an understatement when it comes to public opinion of the memorial!)  After  hours of sunshine and no lunch, there came a moment when my head started spinning and my initial thought was, “I’m about to pass out!”  Having experienced a rather unpleasant case of heat exhaustion in Cambodia a few summers ago, I thought I recognized the signs.  It took me all of about two seconds to realize that no, this was not heat exhaustion, but another sensation with which I have experience- an earthquake!

My initial awareness of the earthquake was quickly followed by a scan of the area.  I looked up and saw the light post and Washington Monument, both in motion. I looked down and could see the grass smoothly rolling under my tennis shoes.  As I glanced over my shoulder, the previously glass-like Tidal Basin had some lovely whitecap swells on it.  The quake was short, lasting only a matter of seconds.  Even as the quake was taking place, people were still streaming towards the entrance of the memorial.  Some people stopped to look around and to discuss if it fact they had just experienced an earthquake (a first for many long-time DC residents) and then calmly headed back on their way.  As our tent and area seemed undamaged, people nearby not in need of any assistance, Earl and I went right back to handing out bookmarks and chatting with those headed to the memorial.

One of the fabulous parts about working the tent on the main pathway to the memorial was the really great people I got to meet. I was able to speak with a man who walked with Dr. King in Montgomery, another who was in jail with Dr. King in Birmingham and at least a dozen people who were in the crowd on August 28, 1963. I heard women tell stories of participating in the bus boycott in their hometowns and men talk of sit-ins at local businesses. These were suddenly not just chapters of a history textbook being read to me in sophomore history class by Mr. Cooper, but real people, real events, real soldiers in the fight for equality.

Before volunteering at the Martin Luther King, Jr. Monument on Tuesday, I don’t think I had a very good grasp on how important this opening was. I understood that his leadership was invaluable in changing the racial landscape of America; I understood that he was a man who deserved this recognition, but  I think I understood these things strictly in an academic way.  A day in the sun, greeting visitors, talking with people who experienced history in a way I can only imagine brought that understanding into a much more human, realistic realm.  The pride was palpable on Tuesday.  Countless people were in their Sunday best for their first visit to the memorial.  The respect and admiration Dr. King’s leadership, his hard work and his life were unmistakable.   While the earth may have moved me physically on Tuesday, my opportunity to serve at this historic event moved me intellectually and emotionally.

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Awkward Moments Avoided Thanks to Inaugural Gowns

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One great perk to living in our mo-partment is the weekly housekeeping that is part of the arrangement.  Coming from someone who didn’t know where our vacuum was stored for the first several years of our marriage, this is quite a boon! Each Friday I am treated to beautifully folded white towels, a tightly made king-sized bed and all the dusting that is possible in 600 square feet. This is all fabulous, and I don’t want to be one to look my government-supplied gift horse in the mouth, but I have yet to become comfortable with the actual process.

In theory, someone else doing my chores is superb, but the reality is just awkward. While I tended to fake my way through any assigned chores as a child, knowing if I did a semi-terrible job they would be reassigned to my much more capable older sister, I still had a list for which I had to at least pretend responsibility. Having someone else, usually a woman not much younger than my own mother, come and clean for me has been a tad bit disconcerting. For this reason, I spend my Fridays trying to outwit the maid and her schedule and be conspicuously absent when she arrives.  The challenge comes in that I am pretty sure the housekeeping services department throws the key of each scheduled apartment into a bag and then randomly draws the order in which they will be cleaned.  Since we’ve been here, housekeeping has shown up anywhere between 8:30AM and 4:00PM.  The unreliable schedule means finding an all day, out-of-the-house activity to occupy my Friday hours.

Today’s planned field trip was to Smithsonian’s National Museum of American History.  At first thought, this seems like a terrible place to visit while Thad is slogging his way through hours of Chinese class, as it is one of his favorite places to visit.  In reality though, going without him was a necessity.  Rather than slowing walking around the Gunboat Philadelphia, reading each and every placard in full, I was able to scurry right to the heart of what I wanted to see- the exhibit based upon America’s First Ladies.

Originally, this ongoing exhibit was based on the personal fashion and household style of the women who stood behind their elected official husbands, but as the role of women has evolved, so has the role of the first lady.  Now, the exhibit includes not only the dresses and jewelry of these fashion icons,but  there is also a large portion dedicated to the causes embraced and espoused by these powerful unelected, yet highly visible leaders. The public service agendas put forth by these women are important and note-worthy, but let’s tell it like it is: I want to see the dresses!

Michelle Obama’s beautiful one-shoulder white inaugural gown was the centerpiece of the showroom, complete with her jewelry and Jimmy Choo shoes worn during the festivities surrounding a new president in Washington.  Mamie Eisenhower gets props for her fabulous rose-colored ball gown that has withstood the test of time in terms of keeping its timeless fashion. The shoes and purse she paired with the dress would look extraordinary on any red-carpet event three quarters of a century later.

While I loved looking at the details on each and every dress, I do have to say that fashion is definitely a personal thing and several of these ladies and I are not on the same page! There were three women in front of me throughout the majority of the exhibit who just couldn’t stop gushing about Rosalynn Carter’s chiffon evening gown, which I thought  looked like a gold bedazzled housecoat. One woman drawled in a thick southern accent, “Well, I am sure Georgia never saw such a gown before Ms. Carter showed up in that!”  I’d have to agree, but probably not with the same connotation. While I give Mrs. Carter credit for her economical ways for wearing the same gown she wore when her husband became governor of Georgia, the dress was just not worthy of one, let alone two high level events;   with less money spend on gold beading, she could have gone with a second look!

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Having sufficiently held up the line of tourists at each new outfit and gotten an eye full of handmade shoes, hand-painted silk dresses and handcrafted jewelry, it was time to go people watch on the National Mall.  Talk about a U-turn in the fashion world!  I went from designer gowns and cocktail rings to mom-jeans and joggers.

Joggers.  They are a dime a dozen in the DC area.  We hadn’t been living here a week before I noticed this baffling dichotomy: joggers are everywhere all the time and there is always a Dunkin’ Donuts store within two hundred yards of any given location.  What is the correlation?  Is the jogging because of the donuts or are the donuts in spite of the jogging?  These are the questions that occupy my mind during semi-temporary retirement.

Back to the joggers.  It was nearly noon, 90 degrees outside and a relatively uncomfortable amount of humidity, and yet, there they were.  I can’t help but ask myself about who these people are.  Are they recently unemployed congressional pages?  Who else has time to go jogging in the middle of a work day? As I whiled away more time on that bench nearly smack in the middle of the Capitol and the Washington Monument, avoiding the possibility of an awkward run-in with the housekeeping services women, I was treated to a myriad of runners.  There were a few middle-aged/older gentlemen that while obviously in good shape, should refrain from sharing their man-boobs with visitors from other nations.  This is not the image we want our foreign friends to take home with them. At some point, boobs sag.  This is a fact of life.  Men, embrace it!  When you reach the point where you feel jiggling when you jog, it is time to wear keep your shirt on.  Most runners were solitary in their late-morning pursuit of fitness, but there were a few pairs and trios running together, either providing mutual encouragement or as in one case I overheard, mocking their companions in a rather frat-boy manner.  I guess as long as your pulse rate is up, it counts as exercise!

Feeling like it might be safe to return to my newly cleaned Crystal City apartment, I made my way across the Mall towards the Smithsonian Metro station, dodging the occasional Segway Tour (helmets required, buckling them optional), the ubiquitous family photo-ops and the massive crowd just spewed forth from the subway stop congregating around the visitors’ map/information signs.  A day in the heart of the capital left me thinking I should have gone into the fashion industry or at least that I should stop and buy the latest copy of Vogue.

For You the Flag is Flung

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O Captain! My Captain!

Walt Whitman

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O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
    But O heart! heart! heart!          5
      O the bleeding drops of red,
        Where on the deck my Captain lies,
          Fallen cold and dead.
2
O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills;   10
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
    Here Captain! dear father!
      This arm beneath your head;
        It is some dream that on the deck,   15
          You’ve fallen cold and dead.
3
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;   20
    Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
      But I, with mournful tread,
        Walk the deck my Captain lies,
          Fallen cold and dead.

While Flag Day was the main event of the last few weeks, it has hardly been the only event.  We were lucky enough to have some friends from Idaho fly in for the big day and then spend time touring our nation’s lovely capital city.

One of the great things about living in the DC area is hosting friends/family who have never been here before.  It is awesome to be with people on their first circuit of so many iconic places.  For those of us raised in the West, images of the Washington Monument lit by fireworks or the view of the White House from the steps of the Lincoln Memorial are ones that we encountered year after year in our history books, but remain two dimensional until the opportunity to cross the country arrives.  Those photographs were always compelling, but there really isn’t anything like seeing those same places in person.  Having people in town and experiencing those sites with them for the first time is a great reminder of just how tremendous it is to live here.

The weekend after Flag Day was the first time we have had a chance to get out of town, so we rented a car and headed out for short adventure.  That Saturday we filled with a self-guided car tour of Gettysburg.  I am not sure the guys all realized that it was sixteen stops long!  It really was a full-day activity, but the park area is set up so that the visitors can go through it in chronological order of that terrible three day battle.  After information overload from each of the stops, we ended our tour at the Gettysburg Cemetery where Lincoln gave his famous ten-sentence Gettysburg Address.  Sunday saw us visiting the homes of both George Washington and Thomas Jefferson.  It was incredible to see the massive undertaking these estates are and image the work that must have gone into creating them hundreds of years ago.  I especially liked the beds that Jefferson built into the walls of the home to save space!  They looked like fabulous places to curl up with a great book or two.

Flag Day wasn’t the end of Thad’s A-100 training, so while he went back to work on Monday, I continued to sightsee around town.  We hit the requisite Smithsonian Museums, (had a great fry bread lunch at the Native Americans Museum) , walked the monuments and took tours of the National Archives (who knew butter was a food group at one point?), the Bureau of Engraving (no free samples) and the Library of Congress.

As another week came to an end, so did Thad’s A-100 class.  Friday July 1 was the last day of orientation and in the afternoon the official swearing in ceremony was held at Main State.  He, along with his 93 classmates, to their oath and became official diplomats in the Foreign Service.  It was a nicely put together ceremony, formal enough to convey the importance of the job, but not filled with never-ending speakers.

With time running out for our Idaho guests, it was time to celebrate Independence Day.  Sadly, I didn’t plan ahead enough to get Idaho Spuds shipped in from back home, but I think the Idahoans may have been the only ones in our group who would have enjoyed them anyway!  We were lucky enough to be able to meet up with several China RPCVs and watch the fireworks as they lit up the night sky over the Washington Monument.  (No longer is it just something from my history books!)

The past weeks have been filled with exciting milestones in Thad’s career and visits to amazing historical sights with friends from home.  As A-100 wraps up and Chinese lessons begin, Thad will be kept busy with studies and I will continue to explore Washington on my own!

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Pictures:

*Me at Mt. Vernon

*Thad and me after the official Swear-In ceremony (He’s official folks!)

*Jeremy, me, Thad and Jess at the Swear-In ceremony

*Enjoying the fireworks on the National Mall with friends

*4th of July fireworks at the Washington Monument