The Great American Road Trip: Day 6 – “Listen Children to a Story” – Washington, DC – [07/17/2016]

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There are some places in the world that simply have significance, no matter who you are or where you’re from.

As I am writing this, scrawling it really in my battered travel notebook that seldom leaves my carry-bag, my back is resting against a cool concrete wall, and I’m being watched. Watched, over the heads of thousands of people, into the firm but gentle eyes of a legend.

I am far from American, but Lincoln? Lincoln is a president who changed the course of the world’s culture, ad he is just as much a part of my history as he is our southern neighbors. You can feel that, when you walk in this place. The significance of the weight of it presses against your skin as you stare up at the words engraved on the shadowy walls.

Four score and seven years ago, our fathers brought fourth our this continent a new nation…”

I’ve always taken it as oddly person that such a man was killed in a theatre…of all places.

This is not something I ever thought I would see. Looking into the eyes of King Tut was highly more likely than being searched by the carved eyes of Lincoln. But life takes you in funny places, and at the moment, it seems life has taken me here. Sitting at the foot of greatness. There are a thousand people just in this room, but I feel like I could be alone.

I get like that, sometimes, in cetain places, though I can never predict where.

This is one of many incredible things I Have seen today. After years of dreaming about it, I am finally on the doorstep of the Smithsonian. 19 museums, two days and far too much to see. In the last twenty-four hours, I’ve seen so much.

This morning we made our way through the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum, where my jaw had to be picked up off the floor almost as soon as we walked through the door..

Is that…is that…is that the *Spirit of St Louis*????

Yup

Ohmygod

And it just kept going from there. One floor up is the lunar landing equipment, and the actual spacesuit that Buzz Aldrin walked on the moon in. Beyond that, was a room housing every type of WWII aircraft I had ever heard of, including a full sized spitfire!

Is the Goose here?

The what?

The Goose! The spruce goose! They have everything else here!

But the Goose is housed in a completely different museum in a completely different state, although they do have a small model of it in the Air Space museum, which I was pleased to even recognize as it was listed under it’s actual name – the Hughes Hercules, which no one ever refers to it by.

See, it IS the Goose! I knew it! But no, it’s not here

Leaving the world of Air Space behind us (and having finished our freeze dried ice cream) we emerged into the blinding DC sunshine and heat and wandered across the Mall to what we at first thought was one of the memorials, but it wasn’t. Instead, three flights of impressive towering stairs led us up into the National Art Museum.

And I very nearly burst into tears

So, if there’s one exhibit you want to see, which one is it

I looked at the map that Amras was holding out in front of me, and ran a fingertip down the list of options, and stopped on one almost immediately

That one, 17^th century Dutch.

Really? I didn’t know you were into that

It’s what I studied!

Okay then, it’s this way

And we turned the corner into the nearest gallery, and I found myself face to face with Rembrandt’s self-portrait. I very nearly sat down in the middle of the floor and just refused to move. I lost track of how many times I teared up while making my way through the gallery, but I do know that once was when I turned the corner and found myself in front of a full sized Gainsbourough.

I could spend hours in that building and never get bored..

But there was lots else to see, which is how I ended up with my back against the wall of the Lincoln memorial, watching people watching him.

From there we started making the rounds of the memorials; it makes for a sobering journey, walking along the reflective pool and finding yourself in the midst of the Korean war memorial, with its figures emerging like ghosts out of the setting sun. At that point all that goes through my mind is the theme from MASH

Through early morning fog I see, visions of the things to be

On the other side of the reflective pool is the Vietnam memorial, which we visited nearly last, on our way back from walking through the Martin Luther King Memorial (an abstract but very powerful area directly by the lake), and the FDR Memorial (a peaceful, lakeside retreat that I could have spent hours in). The Vietnam memorial is …heavy…and hard. Standing black against the green of the lawn, the names start the moment there is enough space on the dark marble to carve them. Running close together and impossible to fit into the scope of one glance, it’s hard to take in what they mean, who they were, what they tried to stand for.

Hey hey, LBJ. How many kids did you kill today?

The thing is with Freedom, is that it is not free, it comes at a terrible cost, and wars have no enemy. I’m sorry, but they don’t. To us “they” are the enemy, “they” are the ones who slaughter our children and stand against our “true” beliefs, but to “them” we are exactly the same thing, so who is the enemy here? I mean really who? Look at them, they are us…and the sooner we realize that, the sooner humankind can cease to be divided over petty illusions and pride.

Sometimes I feel like I am completely alone in that belief, but it is a belief that is dear to me none the less.

Sunset was blazing over the Memorials by the time we reached the World War II monument. And something happened to me there that I was not expecting. I have no real ties to WWII since my Gran passed some years ago, I did not grow up hearing the stories, I know no one living who was involved, at least not that I am in contact with. And yet, standing there, trying to ignore the throngs of disrespectful families who were swimming in the memorial fountain (seriously people it’s a war memorial, there are signs ALL over telling you not to wade CAN YOU NOT READ?!), I found myself looking at an inscription on the wall, just one lone inscription, in a corner, in large but not-too-noticeable print… “they gave up their sons…”

I just stood there, staring, and then I realized I was crying..

They’re talking about the Mothers…

Pardon?

The Moms, they’re talking about the Moms. Everyone always talks about the soldiers, and I know the soldiers are the ones who died, I’m not denying them that. But…imagine…imagine being one of those women, who gave everything up, sent everything they loved away…and…and they never came home…

And then I was really crying, and it didn’t matter that there were other people around, it didn’t matter where we were or who was watching. Somehow, I just couldn’t not cry.

The end of the day brought us to the Washington Monument, blazing up against the pink and red sky, surrounded by flags that are still flying half-mast for the many tragedies of the last month. It was, somehow, a fitting end to a whirlwind and amazing day

And tomorrow? DINASOURS!