DC: Proud to be an American

When we see the Capital Bldg on tv, we don't appreciate its great beauty or its massive size. The day we went to the Capital, security was esp. heavy due to the appearance of the CEO of BP. You can't travel in DC w/o seeing some type of cop car every time you turn your head.

We tramped up the green grass toward the visitor's entrance. My friend Jonatha met us. She took the metro from MD. I hadn't seen her in 40-some years since we attended Grand Valley State University together somewhere in corn country Michigan.

One nite I was staying up late studying and I won a radio contest to identify Who Sings This Song. The Contours? I said. Yes, young lady. You've won a 6-pack of Dr Pepper.

Jonatha later got her master's in library science & loves working in libraries. She's also a quilter, like my sister Amy, and gave me a GORGEOUS machine-sewn quilt she made for GRACE CATHERINE! Now, there's a good friend for you.

This huge ole tree on the Capital lawn said it hails from Japan and Korea. It's nice to have favorite trees. What trees do YOU love in your neighborhood. It's nice to thank them. But you've gotta figure out how to do it yourself. "Shall we make that a goal?" that's what I say to people in New Directions. "Ya wanna make that a goal, Ruthie, to stop eating so much watermelon? And those burps! My god when is she gonna learn?"

B-U-R-P!

Oh, Rob! I thoughta you in DC cuz your daughter Amy goes to school at American University. Miss you! Mwah!

I'd orig'ly met Karl when we were standing in one of the fast-moving lines to get into the Capital bldg. The next time I saw him I said, "Are you the fellow that just graduated from Pre-K?" This time he told me his name was Karl. Natch I asked if it was with a C or a K.

Ah, the best way! I said, trying to remember a famous Karl other than Karl Marx to tell him about. Actually, the first Karl with a K that kame to mind was a fellow that came to ND a few times. I do not know what this Karl's problem was but he stalked a Philly male news anchor for a year before he was caught.

I loved this b'ful wooden Ascension. Is it Christ ascending or is it Little Ruthie after hearing Steely Dan on the radio?

In the hall of the National Portrait Gallery were two paintings by the great Wm K Johnson. I'm familiar w/his work since I still have one of his calendars hanging in the pink bedroom next to a John Deere tractor calendar.

This wonderful museum was one of my favorites. When I travel I wear a backpack instead of carry a pocketbook. Better for your back. But, they won't let you keep it on your back or at your side at the Portrait Gallery. You've gotta carry the damn thing in front of you as they're afraid you'll bump one of the art works.

Fortunately they had a locker where I stowed it. You could take photos of anything you wished. I liked getting photos of tourists. At this juncture of the summer, most of the tourists were Americans. We had a cab driver from Nigeria - we lamented that Nigeria made a poor showing in the World Cup - and a black Jewish cab driver from Israel.

I had to complain to someone. I just had to tell someone. So I complained to the Nigerian cab driver. See those red double-decker buses? I said. We wasted more time on them! They're inefficient. The drivers don't know how to drive. Scott and I were speechless with dissatisfaction, sitting on the hot bus - Hop On! Hop Off! - while the clock was ticking away. Finally, we hopped into a cab.

Tourists are remarkable. They don't mind standing in lines, taking chances to be bored outa their fucking minds, they have a deep love of the unknown, the uncomfortable, they are tolerant, adventurous, kind-hearted, and often far from home and their loved ones. I have the highest regard for tourists.

Take me home! I wanna go home! I miss Mommy and Daddy! Oh, I forgot Daddy died 30 years again. Bye-bye Daddy!

More of same. This time I'm photographing them from the red doubledecker Hop On Hop Off tour bus that is sposed to run every 20 minutes.


We were open to seeing whatever museums struck our fancy. All I knew was that if it came to pass, I'd like to see Julia Child's original kitchen at the Natural History Museum. I did see it and also watched some film clips on the video screens set up outside her kitchen.

In one clip, Julia said she was in a bad mood and thought it would make her feel better to pound some tough meat for dinner. In her prime, she was a delight. She shoulda quit though before she reached her dotage.

Funny, but when we were sitting on the bus and had to make up our minds whether to get off or not, I suddenly knew: I've gotta see the Holocaust Museum. Here's the outside with this symbol that looks sort of like a swastika.

The Hall of Remembrance was elegantly simple. The moment I went in, I felt a seriousness come over me. All thought stopped.

A class of young Chasids went thru the museum. They wore those white religious scarves known as tallises. What must they have thought when they went thru the large glassed-in hallway, the hallway of horror, you might say, and in there we saw: Multitudes of shoes taken from the men and woman about to be slaughtered. We saw black suitcases of the soon-to-be-slaughtered, piled up in a heap. We saw their hair. We saw their hairbrushes. And we saw their utensils they brought from their kitchens at home. That, perhaps, was the one that got you in the gut. The women, thinking they were simply being transferred by the authorities to Somewhere Else. And believing, in their innocence, that they would again use their onion graters, their many styles of tea strainers, and piles and piles of scissors, too, yes, that they would certainly make tea and honey once again for all the people they loved.

We saw the ovens of the crematorium. And we saw the big iron gate of the gas chamber where they loaded the naked men and women, shut the door, and dumped in the canisters of Zykon gas.

This was the overpowering experience of our trip. There was so much to see and do in DC that the Holocaust Museum could not be appreciated then and there. Only now. Only now when I'm home.

Newsreel footage showed the Nuremburg trials. Various high Nazi officials sat among guards and were given a fair trial. For example, they were brought up on about four charges, then the judge would say, Not guilty on counts one and two, but guilty on counts three and four. Your sentence is Death by hanging.

And I felt very good that justice was done. Some justice, that is. How can justice ever really be done against such unspeakable horror?

Most of the audience were not Jewish. I felt good about this. Let them feel our pain and be better people for it.

The American Indian Museum featured tribes in the Americas. Here is a Bolivian tribeswoman weaving a blanket.

I wouldn't mind wearing a pair of boots like this. Walk a mile in whose shoes?

Did you know there's a US Postal Museum? Huge! Used to be a post office.

The ceilings in the downstairs room seemed about five floors high. They had several mail trucks, past and present, including today's cute white buggies made by Ford Explorer, I believe. I'll have to check with new Mailman Tom, who stuffed three days' worth of mail in my mailbox while I was gone.

What a pleasure it is taking the train. I read 50 pages of my book House of Sand and Fog by Andre Dubos III and stopped in the dining car for a refreshing drink. I wanted to experience The Dining Car. Stay steady on your feet, Lil Ruthie. Big people balance by holding onto the top rails. I balance by falling into people's laptops.

I think drinks taste better on trains. I asked if he had any lemonade. No, he said, but we have lemon-lime Gatorade. Yuk, I thought to myself. Sure, I said, I'll have one.

One glass of ice or two? he asked.

One, I said, overjoyed that ice came with it. I am an ice-chewer and recommend it to anyone who has teeth.

This is the longest post I've ever done but it's the only way for me to view my photos.

Did I tell you what my assignment is? Remind me later. It has to do with my novel.