We Were Not Dreams Today

We know a charming and brilliant woman who had the audacity to leave the city just as we had plans to fully incorporate her into our family. Our field trip today happened because of an email she sent in response to the post about the Pysanky eggs:

Listen, I was looking at your blog, and I have to tell you -- and Judd the Red Chicken -- that pysanky are MY thing.  They can be his thing too; heaven knows there are enough eggs to go around, but anyway, there are a ton o' Ukrainians in Saskatchewan, where I come from, probably because it looks so much like Siberia and they felt at home there.  So I had a number of friends whose bubbies boiled up the dyes come February/March and I had lessons at the hands of old Ukrainian matriarchs (who could also cross-stitch like nobody's business, but that's another story).  After I moved here I ended up doing several homemaking meetings, back in the day when we still had homemaking meetings, on Ukrainian easter eggs.  You ought to have seen me trying to schlep cartons of eggs, dyes (already mixed because they're reusable), beeswax and candles up to Inwood ON THE SUBWAY.

All of which is to tell you, DON'T order the supplies on-line -- you'll be missing out.  Take your offspring to the nearest subway and get yourself down to Little Ukraine, to East Seventh Street -- kind of around the corner from the Ukrainian Museum, if I remember rightly -- to a store called Surma's.  You'll want to check out the hours before you go, because it's open less often than it used to be, but it's one of those treasures where you spend half an hour or longer, walk out and say, "I love New York!"  The store is a family business that has been around for 90 or 100 years or something like that, and when I used to go there, there were a couple of faded curled up Polaroids taped to the wall, along with a piece of paper that was so yellowed it was the color of a manila envelope, on which someone had typed -- and I mean with a typewriter, not a computer printer -- with great pride, "The blouse Karen Allen wore in Raiders of the Lost Ark was purchased at SURMA'S!!"

I haven't been there for a while, but the times I went there was usually a large yellow dog, and sometimes a supercilious cat, that had the run of the place.  It's THAT kind of shop.

So it's a terrific little variety store of all things Ukrainian -- blouses (hand-embroidered), eggs both wooden and from-the-fowl, honey candy (you should buy a couple of pieces so you can each try one, but I think you'll agree one is enough), and all the egg supplies you could ever want.  What you -- and the Boy -- WANT for now is the starter kit.  It has five or six packets of dye in it, a beeswax patty, a kistka (little more sophisticated and long-lived than a nail stuck into a pencil eraser -- also does fine lines if you want to get fancy), and a simple pattern book if you need designs to get you started.  Ask the people in the store what they recommend; they're friendly and full of advice.  Ask them for pointers, and they'll probably have some good ones.  

Best conversation I ever had there was when the proprietor was ringing me up and I glanced at all the jars of honey on the shelf behind him, and at the labels, and said, "You have Saskatchewan clover honey?"

And he said, "You KNOW Saskatchewan?"

And I said, "I grew up in Saskatchewan."

And he said, "You know SASKATOON, Saskatchewan?"

And I said, "I grew up in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan."

And he said, "You know PAUL'S STATIONERY in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan?"

And I said, "Paul's Stationery is where I got my egg supplies when I lived there.  They have a little black poodle that runs around the store."

And he got all misty-eyed, crossed his hands over his heart, and said, "Is my brother."  Actually, if I understood him correctly, once he was articulate again, it wasn't really his brother, it was an old friend or cousin or something, but either way, what were the odds?

THEN when you're done at Surma's, march your children up to 9th Street and 2nd Avenue to Veselka's, and order perogies.  They do some sort of exotic flavors there, but you want the traditional potato-filled or potato-and-cheese-filled ones (and I DON'T mean the goat cheese ones!), with cream cheese and little bits of bacon.  They'll give you an applesauce topping as well if you'd like.  You could order cabbage rolls as well as if you want to do the thing up thoroughly, but Veselka's makes them wrong, so I don't recommend them there.

Obviously, there was nothing to do but GO! And it was everything she promised. 

Please note that it says on the sign outside "book and music co." I really wanted some of these tapes, but have no way to play them. We did randomly pick out some vinyl ($3/record) to bring home to the dad. We can't understand a word on it, but the "WAH-ha-ha" chuckling/singing thrills us all beyond words. 

We got all the necessary equipment (the tools, the design book that was printed before I was born, the thing that blows out the egg innards, the candles, the packets of dye, and the little metal dipping things). The lady that helped us had the essence of Miracle Max/Billy Crystal in The Princess Bride (once he became helpful). She opened packages and walked us through the steps and techniques. She wished us well ("Have fun storming the castle!") -- made The Boy -- and The Girl for that matter -- feel like this egg business is valuable and worthy of choosing for "a thing." You don't get such humanity and connectivity when you order online. The Boy is ecstatic and kept thanking me for "supporting" him. Our friend was right, we left the store feeling grateful to live in this city. Grateful that such stores, with such people, with such expertise in a speciality, exist. 

Since our friend was right about Surma's we obviously had to walk ourselves to Veselka's. Here's the thing: we left on the adventure this morning thinking we would be going into unknown territory, but a little turn here and suddenly the East Village slapped us in the face.

In other words: we had been on this street before. Many times. We just didn't know to look for a Ukrainian restaurant.

The perogies were really tasty (we went with the fried ones. I wasn't expecting cooking-technique options, so I pseudo-panicked, but the waitress whispered that although the boiled are more traditional, the fried ones are much better). The only problem was that we didn't have a good grasp on how big they would be, and the end of story is that they are indeed delicious, but not very big... Thus, when we were done we went across the street to a place that we've been to many times: Pommes Frites. We consumed a double by cramming down all that fried goodness smothered in mayonnaise-based additional goodness. 

Being in the area, we of course had to stop by The Strand. Even though I tell myself that we do NOT need any more books, we still end up with sore arms by the time we get home. I can't help it. They have gorgeous old books printed in the 20's and 30's for $2. What kind of a monster can pass up something like that? The kids picked out books, I picked out books, we found books for gifts... We are weak. Weak. To further prove it, while we were standing in line Judd the Red Chicken reached down and grabbed these candies -- three for 35 cents -- and put them on the counter with an: "I'll pay you back." I told him that was fine. Walking out of the store:

"Thanks for letting me get the candy. I'll pay you when we get home. It was weird how I just looked down and saw it and felt like I should buy it without really thinking about it."

"That's called impulse buying. That's why they put it there by the register."

"What? That's terrible. I can't believe they got me. It's really strong..." 

Yes. Yes it is. On the subway a lady looked at all of our bags and commented on us having gone to The Strand. I told her it was an addiction. 

"That's a pretty good thing to have as an addiction," she smiled.

We chatted. I told her how it was the first time that I had seen the sticker that compared the cost of downloading the book onto an ereader to how much the book cost (stuck on books where the physical book was the less expensive option). She talked about how the experience of reading a book was different. I agreed. I said that I acknowledge that ereaders have their place, but they should be an addition to -- not an instead of. We lamented over the closing of so many bookstores in the city. We discussed how we were sad to project that we very well might soon be living in a world without bookstores. We parted ways with well-wishes for each other, and for a future with bookstores and paper books. 

It was a good day. In the subway station we saw a K-9 unit training dogs -- seven beautiful animals paraded past us and made the girl beam. 

Three men on our train sang endorphins into being; the kids gave them dollars and got really fun high-fives in return. 

This city is the best classroom. I just hope that it stays that way -- that all that is authentic, and one of a kind isn't pushed out by what is new, streamlined, efficient, virtual... We could have ordered our egg dye online, but that experience would NOT have made us feel so fulfilled... Humans need human interaction. Helen Keller said about New York City: "Cut off as I am, it is inevitable that I should sometimes feel like a shadow walking in a shadowy world. When this happens I ask to be taken to New York City. Always I return home weary but I have the comforting certainty that mankind is real flesh and I myself am not a dream."

Of course, if it weren't for the efficient, ethereal online world I wouldn't have a friend who, from the other side of the country, can read my blog and email me details to follow for a charming field trip. Again: addition to, not instead of... 

April's Proving Funny

Dodo

By [Judd the Red Chicken]

If I had a dodo I would name it Frodo
or Toto it would
sit right in my lap no barking or frolicking
around.  If I only had a dodo
If we only did not hunt or pollute them off I would 
have one to pet a lot
I would never grow tired of the old mire
If I only had a dodo

I've left the spawn totally on their own with a notebook and the direction that there is to be a poem a day for the month of April. Today I heard some of them. Folks, we might be sacrificing quality here for quantity. It's like: Shel Silverstein was brilliant as Shel Silverstein, but kids trying to be like Shel Silverstein just end up writing kind of lame little poems. Not that I don't appreciate the ode to the dodo, it's just that I think they can can push themselves a bit more. I will say that the two of them cracking each other up with their randomness was cute.

Here's one of The Girl's little gems that made her giggle while she was reading it:

Mice [So much for all the lessons on writing provocative titles]

the mice in our kitchen
are not so nice
they live under our sink
they are like little minks
if we leave food on the counter
in the morning it's gone

we stopped putting food on the counter
the mice have gone
but I heard our neighbor has mice now

In case you're wondering if perhaps the hidden value of this is that it is memoir, it is not -- we don't have mice, nor have we had mice... We did have a hefty-haunched rat once in a different apartment... Oh, and The Sister thought it would be HILARIOUS to scatter raisins along the baseboard in the bathroom on April Fool's Day. The joke was on her that she didn't get to see me with my bad morning hair and blurry eyes squinting and twitching, as I gingerly grabbed a wipe to retrieve a sample. Haha-hahahaha. 

Hilarious poetry. Faux mouse poop. It's a laugh a minute around here. 

Whale Bones and an R-Rated Poem

Today was a day about bodies. Not intentionally. 

In the morning we had an orthodontist appointment that didn't go as smoothly as we would have liked. Sometimes these bodies just don't do exactly what we want when we want. Sometimes our bodies behave and respond in certain ways because of decisions that we make. Sometimes our bodies do things that don't seem to have any cause... just effects.

In the afternoon we had appointments for the children's annual well-child visits with our pediatrician. I like our doctor because he does not sugar-coat. He is very much an: "it is what it is" kind of person. So somebody will probably always have lousy skin unless we move to the tropics. Somebody else probably never outgrew the Rosemary's baby projectile-vomit inducing reflux. He just stopped throwing up, so we thought he outgrew it. Nothing major... Just little reminders that these bodies are not perfect. Since they will inevitably let us down at times, it makes sense to celebrate them when they are mostly doing what they are made to do. And when you consider all of the many parts and functions -- the sloughing and growing and regenerating and beating and contracting and synchronizing and coordinating that happens... Well, it's amazing. It's a miracle that we were all conceived, made it through the birthing process, and continue to wake up every morning. Add to that our ability to feel the sun, taste nuances in food, and watch slapstick comedy that makes us belly laugh, and it's pretty darn humbling. 

Smack in middle of the orthodontist's location and the pediatrician's is the American Museum of Natural History, so that's where we spent the two hours in between appointments. The new whale exhibit just opened. We need to go back again when the crowds lose interest, but from what we saw I'm forced to posit again: living things are miracles. The diversity of bodies. The adaptations of details. The quirky things that scientists can't figure out. 

And so in honor of National Poetry month I will post a poem that celebrates bodies and whales and making more whale bodies. Our bodies are nothing if not a union of science and poetry. 

Whether or not Lawrence was a misogynist is often debated, but his ability to turn a poem not so much. I'm sure people will ask me if my kids are allowed to read such poetry. Yep. For the same reason that I don't blindfold my kids at the Met. The reality is that their eyes (and ears) glaze over way before any neurons register that something potentially scandalous is on the horizon. 

Whales Weep Not!

by D. H. Lawrence

They say the sea is cold, but the sea contains
the hottest blood of all, and the wildest, the most urgent.

All the whales in the wider deeps, hot are they, as they urge
on and on, and dive beneath the icebergs.
The right whales, the sperm-whales, the hammer-heads, the killers
there they blow, there they blow, hot wild white breath out of
   the sea!

And they rock, and they rock, through the sensual ageless ages
on the depths of the seven seas, 
and through the salt they reel with drunk delight
and in the tropics tremble they with love
and roll with massive, strong desire, like gods.
Then the great bull lies up against his bride
in the blue deep bed of the sea,
as mountain pressing on mountain, in the zest of life:
and out of the inward roaring of the inner red ocean of whale-blood
the long tip reaches strong, intense, like the maelstrom-tip, and
   comes to rest
in the clasp and the soft, wild clutch of a she-whale's
   fathomless body.

And over the bridge of the whale's strong phallus, linking the
   wonder of whales
the burning archangels under the sea keep passing, back and
   forth,
keep passing, archangels of bliss
from him to her, from her to him, great Cherubim
that wait on whales in mid-ocean, suspended in the waves of the
   sea
great heaven of whales in the waters, old hierarchies.

And enormous mother whales lie dreaming suckling their whale-
   tender young
and dreaming with strange whale eyes wide open in the waters of
   the beginning and the end.

And bull-whales gather their women and whale-calves in a ring
when danger threatens, on the surface of the ceaseless flood
and range themselves like great fierce Seraphim facing the threat
encircling their huddled monsters of love.
And all this happens in the sea, in the salt
where God is also love, but without words:
and Aphrodite is the wife of whales
most happy, happy she!

and Venus among the fishes skips and is a she-dolphin
she is the gay, delighted porpoise sporting with love and the sea
she is the female tunny-fish, round and happy among the males
and dense with happy blood, dark rainbow bliss in the sea.

Since Last I Posted...

Friday in DC:

We started our day going to Capitol Hill -- to the Eastern Market (North Carolina/7th) -- where, at Market Lunch, one can get a delicious breakfast. We went to get the blue/buck (blueberry and buckwheat) pancakes, but realized that this was the first time that we weren't there on a Saturday... and apparently they only make them on Saturdays. It was fine: while those pancakes are indeed delicious, the rest of their food/their other pancake options are also very good... and it was nice to have a seat for once. 

A few stalls down is a cheese seller that sells cheese in the most delightful way (well, she sells it in a normative way, but it is the most delightful cheese), and we always go and get a slab (well, if I'm the runner I get a slab, if The Dad is the runner he gets a sliver). The smooth tanginess is a nice compliment to the sweet pancakes. 

Our next stop was the zoo. This is probably not something that the rest of us would have bothered with (free zoo during Spring break... womp...), but the last two times that we have come The Girl has been robbed the zoo experience, so we threw ourselves into the seething mass of humanity.

Even with crowds of people, I will still locate the educator, maneuver myself next to him/her, and ask questions like that obnoxious kid in the front row. We learned that there are three types of zebras -- Mountain, Plains, and Grevy. These are Grevy. They have more stripes because their stripes are more narrow. The lady that we were talking to explained to us that they are endangered -- in fact their extinction seems not only possible, but not too far off because the population is declining so rapidly. We guessed as to the reasons -- habitat infringement (yes), poaching (yes) -- but then she told us that there is another factor that so far is unexplainable, yet disconcerting in the depth of its impact: the males are not taking care of/protecting their offspring. Paternal neglect is impairing the survival of the breed. 

The Boy told us that the primates were allowed to swing past/over us on these lines strung over our heads, and we were all like: okay, sure... BUT, he was right. We didn't see such activity, but we did find this sign:

Apparently it's the orangutans' transit system. It declared on the signage that they will never fall... We were wondering though: do they excrete while swinging?  For that reason we wondered if the orangutans are only allowed to access their transit system when the zoo is closed? Questions for an educator another time... 

The "Think Tank" at the zoo is interesting. There are displays explaining some different cognitive/behavior studies that are going on at the zoo, as well as general information on how animals think -- thinking is broken into three areas: language, tools, and societies. The goal is to help people want to be better conservationists by better realizing the cognitive abilities of animals. There is a Macaque there named Spock who is a very good ambassador. Because he is older and has arthritis he seems quite content to sit on a little bathmat in front of the window, and after making eye contact with you, he makes a sign of greeting (blowing air through his lips). After exchanging greetings with him, it is sad to read that his species is endangered because of the destruction of the rainforests. 

The kids went back and forth between what their favorite animal was to visit. For The Girl it fluctuates between the animals that she got to touch in the Children's area.

I'm not sure if it was because we all loved the beaver, or just felt really sorry for his pathetic attempts to gnaw through the fencing that was put around his tree that makes him rank so high on the list. The Girl's heart was so touched by this injustice that she claimed that she wanted to bring him home -- his habitat could be her bed. My empathy did not extend that far, as even after a bath he would still have orange teeth and that creepy tail that -- as it was explained to us -- is like one big scaly fingernail covered in short coarse hair.

The Elegant Crested-tinamou was lovely. Elegance. I became kind of depressed at the behavior of the humans. The stomping, the shoving, the screeching, the banging on the glass, the inordinate amount of snacking, even just the well-intentioned families in matching clothes bummed me out... While the animals on display remained cool and aloof and poised within the enclosure, the animals in the position of power were gawking, and pointing, and slouching, and munching, and in general behaving (and looking) like one enormous, interactive Far Side cartoon.

Since The Girl picked the zoo, The Boy got to suggest the second stop of the day. Onward ho! to the Smithsonian Museum of American History. I don't think we've ever been to DC and not stopped in here. The bringing together of nostalgia and history is too much for us to resist. 

This is an outfit that Bette Davis wears in Now Voyager. It's one of my grandma's favorite movies -- she loves the quote: "...don't let's ask for the stars. We have the moon." 

The hat. The shoes. The frog. Three things we always see (and it's a bit of a hunt each time, as the museum rotates things into different exhibits. For example, Lincoln's hat is currently in a new -- very well done -- exhibit called Changing America. 2013 is the year to celebrate and consider the Emancipation Proclamation (1863) and the March on Washington (1963)). 

It's good that the exhibits always get rotated, because inasmuch as we like to see our favorites, it's important to always discover new things. For example, I had never before seen the wedding dress made out of a parachute. It stands as an example of the human spirit and female ingenuity. When soldiers came back from WWII it was not uncommon to have war souvenirs -- in this case it was a parachute that saved the young man's life when his plane was shot down. There was enough fabric for the dress after cutting around the bullet holes. It's interesting to consider what this dress represents beyond the parachute floating down over Germany, then being used as a blanket by the scared soldiers until they were found by Allied troops, and then neatly being turned into a wedding dress. It represents the state of economy, specifically how importing/the availability of goods changed (i.e. silk from Asia), the spirit of recycling and reusing that the war had taught the American people, and the desire to return to iconic traditions. I'm not sure how thinking about all these things intersecting in one dress made in 1945 makes us better people, but I've bet one year of public schooling on the belief that it does.

Another new item was Jack Warner's personal telephone/address book. Another fun peep into the intersections in a life. In this case it's simply seeing Cecil B. DeMille's information on the same page as Warner's daughter's "dancing teacher." Or Salvador Dali and Walt Disney bedded down, not just with each other, but also with the plebeian: "drug store." 

We looked at the Route 66 section with a sense of pride and ownership because of our road trip. Considering my challenges, I don't think it surprised anybody when I looked at the map and thought out loud, "Hmmm. I didn't realize that was the direction we were going..."  I had it in my mind as a bit more westerly, and bit less southerly... Ah, well.

There's a message board that visitors can interact with: a fact is given about the day in history, and then a question is posed. I think it would be fun to do something similar with our family during dinner time. Easy because of the internet -- I can look up what happened on this day in history faster than I can microwave an entrée. 

The stools from the Woolworth's sit-in are at the museum. Many years ago, before the museum got a face lift, the stools were just kind of off to the side of an area where there were some benches. I was sitting and waiting (for whom? I can't remember? Maybe my grandparents? Maybe it was a few years later and it was my husband?) -- what I do remember is watching as a young African American mother positioned her boys in front of the stools and after taking pictures admonished them to "remember." 

This time, as we rounded the corner to where the new display is with the stools and counter, we saw a program going on that we jumped into. An educator was explaining some of the background to the sit in -- how the young people were told what to wear (Sunday best, but no earrings, no high heels, etc...), and how to act (no fighting back, no commentary, etc.). She had four people come up to sit on some stools (not the actual ones), and asked the crowd to surge around them while in the microphone she raised her voice to an alarming pitch and frenzied pace as she explained the escalation of abuse that the protestors faced. After the reenactment she talked about how singing was often a way for African Americans to endure -- from the days of slavery to the days of the Civil Rights movement. Using the call and respond technique she led everyone in a song. It was pretty darn amazing. Those stools have officially made me tear up twice now. 

The last thing that we did was visit Julia Child's kitchen. Not because we haven't seen it before. Not because we are into cooking around here (cough... understatement). But because we recently found out that she had been a spy!!! The Boy read about it in a book and we all thought it was pretty cool. Reader's Digest version: she applied to be in the Navy, but since she was so tall (6'2"?) she didn't fit into the tight perimeters established for ladies joining the Navy at the time... so she was made a typist. She apparently didn't let her disappointment hold her back and she became the smartest, most easy to work with, most clever typist around, which caught the attention of the powers that be, and wham, bam, she's doing espionage that had to do with German U-boats. Bon Appetit, Nazis. 

As we drove through DC we passed the Department of the Interior a couple of times. I mentioned to the kids that like Harry and Ron, who tried to give encouraging looks to Quirrel when they thought he needed strength to hold up to Snape, I felt the need to cast such encouraging looks to the Department of the Interior. We are fearful that with the current, dreadful state of our nation's economy our dear Junior Ranger program will be cut. Of course the kids pointed out that Quirrel actually didn't need to withstand Snape, but actually should have tried to cast off the evil that was living in his turban -- or at least died a hero trying... I'd rather not try to see if my metaphor holds up... I'm not smart enough to know where the evil is coming from, I just want the Junior Ranger program to always stay. I think it's one of those things that best represents what an insightful country can provide its citizens. It's like Mr. Rogers on PBS. Anyway, if you happen to pass the Department of the Interior, be sure to give it some encouraging looks.

Another building that we passed a couple of times is the Organization of American States. I am very cloudy as to what this is (kind of like a more regional UN?) even though I did a cursory google. The next time we go to our nation's capital we are going to see if there are tours. For now I just want to document this: from the outside, it might be one of the most aesthetically-pleasing buildings in DC. 

After a quick dinner we headed to the Kennedy Center for the free Friday concert. We got a killer parking space (family joke: several blocks away The Dad gasped, enthusiastically threw on the flashers, and jubilantly pulled into some street parking... As we passed block after block of similar street parking we of course had to tease him for his NYC if-it's-within-ten-blocks-it's-golden street parking sensibilities). The Kennedy Center made us feel a bit connected to our neighborhood, as it is so similar to Lincoln Center. The concert was a fun bluegrass band, but mostly we just liked being there and seeing the friends coming after work, the families meeting up, the elderly who have surely been coming to such concerts for years, the people on dates, and one of my favorites: the lady sketching a random couple. I felt kind of sneaky that we took this picture: inasmuch as the couple didn't know she was sketching them, she didn't know that we were snapping this picture of her.

We wandered out to the terrace to see the river and the fountains. The fountains are turned off for the season still, but we did see that there was a little plastic elk at the bottom of one. We discussed how he could have mistakenly fallen in, OR there was a person who didn't have a penny, but really wanted to make a wish... so he/she chucked in a plastic elk. We are hoping that his being on the bottom of the still fountain is intentional, and that such a sacrifice brought to pass the fulfilling of a great wish. 

Wishes. Hopes. Dreams. Our next stop was to see the recently finished Martin Luther King, Jr. memorial. We looked across the water at the memorial to Jefferson -- the man who penned: "... all men are created equal..."

We went to the gift shop at the MLK memorial to pick up the booklets for the Junior Ranger program. While there we bought our only DC souvenirs: 

Pencils with Brother King's most famous quotes: 

"This is our hope. This is the faith that I go back to the South with. With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope."

"Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that."

"I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character."

"I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: 'We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal.'"

"The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy."

A very engaging book that we are half-way through: The Watsons go to Birmingham -- 1963. 

And a copy of President Obama's book. First of all, it's really sweet. Second of all, I spent me a lot of time watching Antiques Roadshow when it first came out. Saturday evenings were my PBS night -- it was Lawrence Welk, Ed Sullivan, my date with the Keno brothers, and then my British comedies. I couldn't help but think that we could do a little something for my future grandchildren: a first edition of the first African-American president's book STAMPED with the stamp from the MLK memorial with a date demonstrating that it was purchased while the Obamas were living down the street in the White House. Might pay for somebody's college some day. Assuming somebody doesn't do something asinine like try to spruce it up somehow. I can always count on The Boy to feel the excitement in something... he's already requested it to put in the museum that he plans on opening. 

Our last event of the night was a Cherry Blossom Ranger-led lantern tour around the Tidal Basin. Obviously, it's a total bummer that the trees are not blossoming. It was also a bit of a bummer when we showed up at 8pm thinking it was a one-hour tour and found it was actually a two-hour tour. We decided to go along with the group for the first hour, and then cut out, as The Boy had already secured a promise that we visit the WWII memorial, and by this time I was dragging.

We did learn a lot during our hour. The theme of our trip -- the idea of things intersecting -- was definitely played out in the history of the Cherry trees. What was going on: 1. the decision to dig and fill in a portion of the Potomac River to alleviate some of the swamp area that was harboring disease-carrying mosquitos and create a tidal basin that would kind of flush the Washington Channel 2. the City Beautiful campaign/ideal so glamorously exhibited at the Columbian Exposition in Chicago in 1893 and 3. a wealthy, determined, and well-connected woman who saw a beautiful park in Japan... Bring those things together at the right time and you have a gift of hundreds of Cherry trees. That were diseased. Few things work out the first time around, right? Unfortunately, the first group of trees that came had to be cut up and burned because they were infested. It could have been a PR nightmare, but those who had invested so heavily in the project showed a great deal of understanding and ability to see beyond themselves. A second batch came in 1912. Some of those trees are still living. Mostly the trees have been living around 40-50 years, and are replaced as necessary. 

We learned that the oldest monument is from the 1600's. Of course it hasn't been in DC that long, rather it came in 1954 to commemorate Commodore Perry opening up Japan to trade 100 years earlier... and as a good will gesture to represent healing that can occur. One of the rangers on the tour had lived in Japan for a few years teaching English and he told a great story that one of his adult students shared with him: as a young man, during the war, some tried to indoctrinate the children to hate the Americans. He was told that the cherry trees that had been given as a gift of friendship had all been chopped down and burned. This student said that years later, as a businessman, he visited DC and was touched to see the cherry trees -- very much intact -- blossoming around the tidal basin. To him, this sight represented the beauty of hope. Surely it was hard to imagine during the darkest and most atrocious moments of the war that there could come a time when people would be glad that the cherry trees were kept --- but somebody hoped that would be the case. The fact that by 1954 -- just nine short years after the war -- this national treasure (it originally came from Nagasaki -- which adds another layer) was given to the US from Japan, demonstrates how quickly that healing process can begin. 

In 2004 The Dad, a one-year old Boy, and I were in DC for Memorial Day. The WWII Memorial had officially opened to the public the month before, but it was for the holiday that many veterans had been invited. That's not why we were there. It was a coincidence, but being there at a time when so many veterans were gathered to see it for the first time was something that I will always remember. Most wore baseball caps, or jackets identifying their branch of service, or regiment, or battalion, or division. Many wore medals. Some had traveled with family and stood amidst large groups of loved ones. A lot shook hands with other veterans. I saw quite a few people giving their thanks. The most poignant memory I have, wandering around the memorial just as the sun was starting to set, is of a man -- a veteran of the war according to his jacket -- standing in front of the water by the Pacific Theatre. He was far away -- lost in prayer, or thought, or reflection. 

This time, the fountains were off, which really changes the feel of the memorial, there was some sort of construction/sandbagging at one end, which ruins the already tenuous balance of the aesthetics, and it was nighttime. There were no veterans that I could see, just a few other late-night tourists like ourselves. We were looking for the "Kilroy" guy, but didn't have a lot of information to go on... We were pretty wiped out and cold. 

Finally it was time to go to our hotel.

Saturday:

We need to talk about Clara Barton. Recap of what the ranger said on our tour: She was a teacher in Massachusetts. She decides to go to college in NYC at the age of 30 to further her studies. She goes to New Jersey and sees a bunch of kids wandering the streets during the day. This prompts a big question mark for her. She finds out that the only school option is a subscription-based one (parents pay into school/teacher). She works hard to get the city officials to let her open a public school -- even offering to work without pay in the beginning to see if it will work. What motivation would the little street urchins have to attend school? She starts with a handful, and at lunchtime when they leave to go and find food she realizes that chances are very good that they will not return. They did return. And they brought friends. Within a very short time the school swells to over six hundred students. It's time to really make it official and hire a principal. Because she is a woman, she is not chosen. This ticks her off, so she moves to DC and gets a job in the patent office. While in DC the Civil War starts. She hears of some soldiers from Massachusetts who get abused when they transfer trains in an area where Confederate sympathies were strong -- when they arrive in DC she goes to the train station to see them. She recognizes some the children she had taught in Massachusetts -- now grown. She talks to them and they write home that their old teacher is in DC, and is able to see the soldiers before they leave for their appointments. People from back home start shipping her things for the soldiers. She starts telling friends that she is collecting things, and pretty soon she has three warehouses full of stuff for the Union army. It is because of that STUFF, that she is given permission to go to the battlefields. While there she does what she can for the soldiers -- but she was never officially a "nurse." Once home she is asked to speak on the lecture circuit about what she saw and did during the war (she had been at many of the major battles). She does so and becomes wildly popular, but anxious. Her doctor suggests that she use some of the money she's earned lecturing and travel around Europe. While doing so she discovers the Red Cross in Switzerland. She learns how countries can sign the pact to establish a Red Cross, and in so doing enable them to send representatives to help when needed -- without political agenda. The Franco-Prussian war breaks out while she is abroad and she volunteers. When she returns home she works her tail off to establish the American Red Cross -- at the age of 60. Blah, blah, she does amazing things, Spanish-American war, establishes orphanages, goes and does amazing things in Turkey, etc. and so forth. Into her 80's she is asked to step down as head of the Red Cross -- which she does -- only to turn around and found the National First Aid Society, which is the first time average citizens are encouraged to learn first aid. It is also where the idea of widely distributed, consistent first aid kits is born and executed. Wow. So often we go on these tours and I'm like: See kids, this person was young and did great things! You, too, can contribute! Learning about Clara Barton was a reminder for me: See [me], this person accomplished amazing things in her 60's and her 80's -- the accomplish-things train has not passed by! It was all very inspiring. What a remarkable, hard-working, insightful woman. Here are pictures of where she lived, which was also the headquarters of the American Red Cross:

Why were we out by the Clara Barton National Historic Site? Because I wanted to go back to Glen Echo Amusement Park (located right next to it). Many years ago The Dad and I stopped by Glen Echo. It was in the process of being restored, and it must have been off-season... My memory is gloaming-like: we seem to be alone in the aged amusement park. We look at the carousel that is being restored. The retro buildings are mostly shut. I need a restroom and discover an unlocked door to the dancehall. There are people. It's like I've gone back in time, as those I see are dressed in period-costume. There is going to be a 20's dance later that night. Swing music seeps out of the hall... 

The experience left such a mark on me that years later I bought a carousel horse charm for my charm bracelet. I almost wish that I had left the experience in that dream realm, but the desire to return was strong. 

The restoration process is mostly completed. It was not restored as an amusement park, but more along the lines of an artist co-op. During the season you can take classes like pottery or glass blowing. The carousel runs on some days. There is a playground that is obviously well-used by the community. There are some history/museum/information stations, as well as some displays of original facades -- all maintained by the parks department. We had a nice time looking around, and it was good for the kids to get to play, but I'm having to work hard at keeping this new memory from crowding out my Somewhere-In-Time-like memory -- for that is the memory I most want to retain.  

Back through DC on our way home. We stopped by the Smithsonian Castle because at one time they played an excellent free movie there that provided a clear explanation of the history and overview of the Smithsonian -- something that The Sister and The Boy would really dig. Unfortunately, the theatre with the free movie was removed to make room for a revenue-making cafe. Bummer. The only good thing that came of it was that the tulip trees in front of the castle were blooming.

Though the cherry blossoms did not present themselves for our pleasure, there was a lovely sign of spring: as we drove past the field surrounding the Washington Memorial the sky was filled with kites. 

Coming home we stopped in Baltimore at the American Visionary Museum. Soon the kiddos will be old enough to actually see the exhibits, until then we will continue enjoying one of the most fun gift shops in the world. It is quirky, and like the museum, one never knows what kind of little treasures will be discovered. Along with shelves of kitsch, the manager also finds forgotten vintage items. It is truly charming.

The Dad and The Boy don't have quite the stamina for looking at trinkets that the ladies in the family have. Eventually they wandered outside to feed the meter, and while The Girl, The Sister, and I discovered paper egg wrappers (bunny heads!) -- similar to cigar labels -- made in England in the 1950's (50 cents a sheet!), Judd the Red Chicken made a farm model out of sticks.

As much as this family likes to travel, we all love being safe and sound at home.

Sunday after the Easter bunny antics, and after church, we went with favorite friends to check out the Easter parade on 5th Avenue. We knew that we would be hitting it late, but still wanted the kids to get to wear their hats that they created last year, and then revised/added on to last week. I will say that the crowds, sans cool parade (just as we hit 5th the street was un-blocked off), were a bit much for my tired self... but it was nothing that couldn't be cured by meeting a mimosa-upped gay couple who gave our kids a ton of attention for their hats (they were wearing hats that were VERY similar -- same sprawling artificial flowers; same hot-glued plastic figure motif...). It's lovely when a group of strangers meet and laugh and take pictures together. I can't post any of those pictures, but imagine some smilers in seersucker in the back row, and a group kids in the front displaying varying degrees of that: "Squirrel!" look -- all wearing crazy hats. 

Monday we survived April Fools Day... barely... While The Sister's jokes were well thought-out and smooth, The Boy and the Girl just drove us all crazy. They kept whispering "The eagle has landed" and then would laugh maniacally until we agreed to go and use the toilet (that had been Saran wrapped), etc. and so forth. Probably their funniest one was asking The Sister if they could take a picture of her and then they held a thought bubble over her head that said something about a 12-year old boy we know being a "hoty." The Sister's strongest one was either when she Vaselined the doorknob on the inside of the bathroom (she looked really sheepish when The Dad came running in from the gym and went straight in to take a shower... She had thought that he had already left for work), or safety pinning all of The Boy's socks together, so when he went to pull out one pair all of them came trailing out. 

This evening I attended a training session at the New York Historical Society for homeschooling parents. It was really amazing. The education department that they have is phenomenal, and the curriculum that they create for their exhibits is extensive and impressive. One thing that the head of education said that I thought was awesome was to remind kids to look at the items in a museum and come up with their own inquiries based on what they are seeing... and then read the labels/supporting text. You can read about stuff online, but some of these items are a once in a lifetime peak. I felt sad that the year is coming to an end because the programs that they have and the opportunities for learning are just that exciting. 

Tomorrow the public school kids are back to school... And so mine will also get a bit more focused. Hopefully.