“Welcome to the District of Columbia” our phone chirps. We enter the sacred space of our country’s capitol with claps and cheers erupting from those enthusiastic enough to commit outward excitement (namely me).
A PLACE WHERE THINGS GET DONE
The buildings here proclaim their space with grand statuesque importance ensconced with pillars, sculptures and laurel leafs–nods toward ancient Greek and Roman architecture. Monuments honoring men whose names evoke my respect and awe (as well as others whom I fail to correctly categorize), cast their shadows on our path. Street names call attention to historical people, places and documents and all the while activity hums and churns. If a collective breath was held, I believe I could hear legislative decisions being made behind closed doors. This is a place where things get done. Continue reading “Washington DC: moving from foreign to familar”
We’ve arrived in Washington DC ready to plant seeds of information from this historically rich soil deep in our hearts.
Today we spent hours walking the grounds of Mt. Vernon where George Washington lived (and died). We marveled at the man who did so much for our young nation. Our respect has risen in equal proportions to our understanding of who he was.
As much as I admire him, I do pity his dental problems. I learned that Washington was afflicted with tooth issues all his adult life. At the time of his inauguration in 1789, he had only one working tooth remaining. His dentures included human, cow and horse teeth, ivory (possibly elephant), lead-tin alloy, copper and silver alloy!
I can’t imagine trying to eat or talk with those things in my mouth. America can hardly keep from harassing Donald Trump’s hairstyle. Can you picture how harsh social media would be on a president who would barely smile for fear of the look he would produce? It made me kind of glad that George lived before our age of Instagram and YouTube. Its easier to focus on the inner qualities that truly made him the best man for the job rather than being sidetracked by the exterior. Continue reading “photos, videos and false teeth”
Its a curious word, morphing with time and my understanding of it’s variant definitions.
Home is the center point
For many years my definition of home included our house, city and state. It was the constant place amid our family movement. Go to church, come home. Run errands, return home. Go on vacation, go home.
Home was the center hub in our ever-turning wheel. Predictable. Strong. Steady. Continue reading “where is home when you are always on the move?”
Museums used to be boring, now they captivate me. I am not sure who has done the most changing: me or the museums. This apparent good news does come at a cost: I’ve become the perpetual caboose. I wander behind the rest of the family at half-speed, my little black notebook in hand: reading, studying, learning.
When we arrived at the American Revolution Museum at Yorktown, I was a little nervous for my family. How long would they have to wait for me this time? In the end, the wait was worth it. I walked away with more than just a history lesson. Continue reading “an encouraging lesson from the American Revolution”
As I enter the Yorktown National Historical Battlefield, I carry with me the knowledge that I’ve ascertained primarily through osmosis while staying in this historic triangle: I am standing at the site of the last major battle in the Revolutionary War.
I did not know this one week ago.
I knew about the Revolutionary War mind you–I’m not completely incompetent. But when I hear the word “York,” I think of peppermint patties and cute little terrier dogs–not a battle sight.
Continue reading “Yorktown’s life lesson: the gabion basket”