So it’s Saturday, June 21, the first day of summer and we’re on our way to the nation’s capitol … that’s “Washington D.C.” for all you high-school drop-outs. We were driving along at our usual 62 mph, minding our own business, when Diedre’s cell phone rang. Turns out it was the Obamas. They wanted to know if we could come over for dinner. Being big-time blogists and all, we get that a lot. Diedre was polite but had to make our apologies. I mean, we had tickets to the Smithsonian's "All Fish Museum” gala. Bill Parcells and Charlie the Tuna would be there. You understand.Our drive from the Outer Banks to the campground at College Park, MD, was supposed to take six hours. It took … TEN?! What is up with those Virginia drivers? We were stopped no less than five different times for accidents … FIVE ACCIDENTS?! I mean, what is this, demolition derby?!
I calmed down once we arrived at the Shady Rest Campground. Now, regarding campgrounds, I rate them on a “1-5 SCALE” with “five” being excellent and one being “fit for pigs and college students.” I give very few “fives.” On last years AB1 trip, I awarded just four of the coveted excellent ratings (Oak Grove, MI; Granger, IN; Alma Center, WI; and Grapevine, TX) out of the 31 campgrounds we visited. And after today’s heinous drive, I was ever-so happy to arrive at another “five” here. The place was just excellent, only the 2nd “five” out of twenty so far this year. It had numerous bath/shower facilities, was very clean, had two pools, a restaurant, and even a concierge service. In the evenings, they hosted an outdoor movie every night. My blood pressure soon returned to reasonable levels.
We made it to the ball park using the city’s exquisite subway (Metrorail) system. It was clean, neat, and orderly (unlike some other unnamed eastern cities). The only trick here was that I felt a lot like “Charlie,” the infamous song about the Metropolitan Transit Authority (MTA) of Boston. Just like the MTA, the Metro charges you when you get off. Fortunately for us, we found that we had lucked out in that the Metro was planning to raise their fees on the 29th, the day which we were leaving. It was going to be a 10-cent raise then. Had they done it today, my shortage of a dime would have made me as hapless as Charlie as Diedre would have to come down to the station every day at noon to slip a peanut-butter sandwich to me through the open subway window because I would have been “the man who never returned” (obsolete 50’s Kingston Trio reference there for you youngies).
On this day, Diedre was wearing a purple shirt. The day’s promotional give-away was the Nationals red baseball hats. They were the soft topped ones, the kind that makes one feel the need to paint the house when you wear it, so I passed on the gift, but the wife did not. When she put it on, coupled with the purple shirt, it made her look like a “Red Hat Lady.” She did NOT appreciate the comparison.In the Nationals’ program, I noticed that the ball club was involved in the fight against childhood diabetes. I mentioned this to Diedre. Ever the food-sheriff, she gruffly replied, “Well, they ought to be with all the CRAP-FOOD they serve here!” [News Flash from Our Head Chef: DK later relented after reviewing the menu at the ballpark. In a turnabout of epic proportions, she soon declared it “the best food of any of the 21 ballparks we’ve visited so far.” Of course, that’s like being the most celibate priest … damned with faint (if any) praise. And she also exclaimed that they had the best beer selections, too. They even had IPA’s (whatever the heck that means). So, on this day, all was right with the world.
One more food thing: I really lucked out here. At the concessions stand, they were selling frozen custard, which as we all know (and hope) is better for the diabetic tribe than ice cream because the egg (protein) in custard helps equalize the carbs (sugar. Well, before Diedre could do her thing, I ordered, paid for, and then quickly gulped down an order. Diedre stepped up and gave them the fourth degree about the alleged “custard” and its contents. It turned out, she was right (as usual). There was NO egg in their concoction; they were just calling it “custard,” I guess, because they liked the sound of it. I slyly feigned indignation just after I wolfed down the last spoonful of the creamy little piece of heaven, whatever it was.
The game itself was superb. There was great cloud cover for a hot afternoon game, then during the last inning, the sun came out … so very nice! The game was a satisfying 4-1 victory for the hometown boys. The place was packed, nearly 40,000 strong. The only negative was that I had told Diedre all about the Nationals phenomenal young player, 21-year old, superstar-in-waiting Bryce Harper. We were both excited to see him play. But unbeknownst to me, he was on the injured list (I think he stubbed his toe) and would not play that day. So that was too bad. But good for the Nationals was the fact that the Braves only had three hits against a strong outing by the Nationals’ pitcher, Tanner Roark. It was a great day out at the ballpark.
After a day of R&B (rest and blog), we sucked it up and made our long-awaited trek to the National Holocaust Museum. It was an emotionally difficult yet historically important trip for us to make, to bear witness.
The Holocaust was a state-sponsored, systematic persecution and annihilation of European Jewry by Nazi Germany between 1933 and 1945. Six-million were murdered. The thing that stays with me the most was the room that was packed to the ceiling with thousands and thousands of 70-year old prisoners’ shoes taken by the Nazis. Incredibly, the acrid, stale smell of the ancient leather still permeates the room even after nearly three-quarters of a century.
Now this entire trip to Washington D.C. wasn’t all somber. With that said, however, we did make a pilgrimage on Wednesday out to Arlington National Cemetery to pay our respects. As you’re probably well aware, that place is huge. We first visited the Kennedy graves, then for the first time in our three or four visits to Arlington, we toured Arlington House, the Robert E. Lee Memorial. What a strange history that place has. Owned by a female relative of George Washington who married Robert E. Lee, the place had to be virtually abandoned by the Lee family when Robert made the ill-fated choice to leave his military post with the U.S. army and throw his lot in with the Confederacy. Within days, the Union took over this strategic spot. Lincoln’s administrator of the house, a former student of Lee’s at West Point, was so angered by the General’s defection that he turned Mrs. Lee’s lovely garden into a cemetery … and it has been thus ever since.
We did get to see a stirring wreath-laying at the Tomb of the Unknowns. Also buried at Arlington was longtime heavyweight boxing champion Joe Louis, but the grave that I tried to find (and could not) was that of General Abner Doubleday, the apocryphal inventor of baseball. He was in grave number 61, but the early years weren’t as organized as the more recent ones. I finally ran out of time searching for him.That night we shared a lovely dinner at the home of one of Diedre’s former co-worker, Claudia Sutton, and her husband Woody. Diedre hadn’t seen Claudia in years, yet they picked up like it was only yesterday when they had been in the advanced guard of saleswomen getting computers into the nation’s schools. Giant Woody (he must be 6’5”) was a most interesting guy. A lifer in the navy, Woody was the captain of various ships for half of his career.
On Thursday, we split our tourist leanings. Diedre has had a longtime love-affair with the city of Alexandria, so she took this day to once again reacquaint herself with it. She even discovered that the town was founded by a Scotsman, John Alexander, a name shared with my father’s youngest brother.Meanwhile, I was back over in the District doing that history thing that Diedre so barely tolerates. Today I started with the Smithsonian’s Air and Space Museum. I first got to touch a moon rock that was recovered by the Apollo 17 mission in December of 1972. It was an iron rich, volcanic rock with a touch of basalt and would be four-billion years old next Tuesday.
The American History Museum was next. This repository of Americana minutia was right up my alley: Archie Bunker’s chair, Dorothy’s ruby red slippers, the microphone used by FDR to do his Fireside Chats, the chairs and table used at the Confederates’ surrender at Appomattox, and an original Edison light bulb. And in a once in a lifetime happenstance, the actual Star Spangled banner, the 1814 flag that inspired our national anthem, was reunited for the first time with Francis Scott Key’s manuscript since back when he wrote it from a ship in the harbor during the Battle of Baltimore in the War of 1812. This was the 200th anniversary of the 30’x42’ flag which flew over Fort McHenry in the decisive battle with the British on September 16, 1814. Key’s song has been our country’s official national anthem only since 1931 when Congress approved it after a groundswell of support led by John Phillip Sousa. Key, a gentleman poet, originally called the lyrics “The Defence of Fort McHenry.” He thought the tune it should be sung to would be “To Anacreon in Heaven,” a popular drinking song of the time. It’s difficult to sing because it has a 2.5 octave range, and only people like Judy Garland, Cyndi Lauper, and Edith Bunker can hit those notes.
Diedre and I have agreed that after our 10-year-RV adventure is over, we would both take more time in our favorite venues: she would immerse herself in Broadway theatre in New York City while I would easily spend a month or so in Washington D.C. Different strokes.
Saturday, June 28, was to be our last day in the nation’s capitol, so we decided to take the early train downtown and pay our respects to all (most) of the memorials and monuments. On our way, we discovered a wonderful sculpture garden near the National Archives. Remembering her years as a teacher, DK opted for a photo with a giant eraser. And for no good reason, I liked the one by an all-silver tree.
Much like my old neighbor Ken Radde’s infamous “Flowers at 50” where he wouldn’t slow down in Hawaii for the ladies to take pictures of the local flora while they were driving, so did we see the seven major monuments/memorials in a mere two hours, a schedule so established in order for us to make it to a theatre matinee in neighboring Arlington.In order, our two-hour monument race went as follows:
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| The Washington Monument |
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| The National WWII Memorial |
2-The National World War II Memorial;
3-The Korean War Veterans Memorial;
4-The Lincoln Memorial (we had already seen the nearby Vietnam Veterans Memorial on a previous visit and decided it would be too emotional for us to visit it again);
5-The Martin Luther King National Memorial;
6-The Franklin Delano Roosevelt Memorial (where we got some dynamite photos of Diedre with Eleanor and then with FDR and Fala, the President’s dog); and finally
7-The Jefferson Memorial.
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| The Lincoln Memorial (and stray visitors) |
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| The Korean War Memorial |
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| Martin Luther King National Memorial |
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| FDR Memorial Park |
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| The Jefferson Memorial |
OK, let’s get on with July. We’ll start with a trip down the Boardwalk in Atlantic City.
See you there.
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