Drumming in D.C.

Leon greeted us at the East Falls Church Metro platform. "Need help?" he offered.
"I think we've got it today," said Andy, putting cash in the ticket machine. "I'm only buying one-way today, because with predictions of rain for afternoon, we may come back before the 7:00 p.m. off-peak."
Leon grinned and offered to take our picture before other customers asked his advice about parking in the lot nearby and finding a taxi--all answers, delivered with a smile.
"Next year, I'm retiring too," he called, waving goodbye as we rode up the escalator to the overhead tracks. In D.C., Metro is definitely the way to go. Punctual to the minute and clean as could be, the commuter railroad took us from East Falls Church underground to the Federal Center SW station for $2.40 each, no parking fees and an easy walk to the new National Museum of the American Indian, the 18th Smithsonian Institution.
At the 10:00 a.m. opening, not more than 15 people gathered in Lelawi Theater for the 13-minute introductory presentation of Who We Are. Named in the Delaware tongue for "in the middle," Lelawi, a theater in the round with 120 seats, includes a ceiling show with tiny stars and a partial globe for Mother Earth in the center of the floor, as well as the in-the-round film. After the video about different tribes, we explored the displays, 800,000 pieces of aesthetic, historical and spiritual significance in a collection that spans more than 10,000 years of heritage in the United States, Canada and Latin America. The Our Universe section presented native beliefs, and Our Peoples showed native history.
I learned about the upsurge in money in Europe after 1500 because of the silver and gold from the Americas. From 1500 to 1650 Spain shipped 35 million pounds of gold and silver to Seville, all mined by native peoples.

Another section explained how products from the Americas--potatoes, tobacco, chocolate and corn--had changed the world. Other exhibits showed Indian beliefs in an unseen spirit world. Indians felt that deceased family members would return and that death is a continuation of life. They celebrated this with Day of the Dead. The Spanish colonizers who brought their own way of worship and Roman Catholic beliefs in one God to the western hemisphere tried to wipe out the Day of the Dead. When they failed to stop Indians from dancing and performing their ceremonies, the Spanish moved the celebration to November 1 and 2 and called it All Saints Day and All Souls Day.

I read about survivance. I didn't know there was such a word. The plaque said it meant more than survival. "Survivance means redefining ourselves, holding on to ancient principles while eagerly embracing change. It means doing what is necessary to keep our cultures alive."

I wandered from section to section along the outside walls of the fourth floor. Each tribe had its own display about culture. I missed the artifacts and the art. Many tribal names I had never heard before. And back at the stairway I found Andy sitting, reading and waiting for me. "I'm disappointed," he said. "The presentation is disjointed and there are no sand paintings, almost no kachinas and not even much weaving. It isn't what I expected."

"I just can't process so much all at once," I said. I hadn't thought about it before, but each tribe expressed its own story in its own way, so there wasn't much cohesiveness. He was right, and that might have caused my feelings of burn out. I was overwhelmed, but it was due to my own expectations.
We started the third floor together. It offered more of the same--an Our Lives focus on contemporary people.

At the Mitsitam Cafe on the second floor, we found the break we needed at a place serving all authentic native foods. Andy ordered two Mexican spicy hot chocolates to sip with our granola bar lunch. Coffee cost more.

In the first floor Potomac Atrium, native American Dennis beat a skin drum head and sang Kiowa war journey songs, typical of the southern plains around Oklahoma. "The sounds are not exactly words," he explained,. "They are emotions, sort of like singing 'Fa la la la laaa... la...la...la...la.'"
"I am Dennis Zotigh. I am Kiowa, Santee Dakota and Ohkay Owingeh Pueblo," said Dennis. I hadn't heard much about any of those tribes. He told a small audience seated on benches around the atrium that Indian tribes in the U.S. numbered more than 600 with 215 different dialects. No wonder the tribal names had no familiar ring for me. "There are about 2,000 tribes overall in the western hemisphere," he said. That would explain the disjointed nature of the upper floors and my sense of disconcertedness. I photographed the Hawaiian koawood canoe with its hauwood and wili-wili wood float and the canoe of totora reeds from Lake Titicaca.
"How could anyone fit inside that canoe?" asked Andy. "Did you see how tight it is? I'd never fit. "I shrugged. "It would hold you in and keep you dry."

"It's not raining yet," said Andy.

Preserving Potentials

We had nearly circled the tidal basin by the time we reached the John Paul Jones statue and made our way to the Archives. Getting in entailed a maze of security checks. "Has this ever changed!" said Andy.

We wandered individually in the stacks, looking at the interactive exhibits. I couldn't read and absorb fast enough. One display said two of every three Confederate deaths and three of five Union deaths in the Civil War between 1862 and 1865 were caused by disease: typhoid, measles, diarrhea, pneumonia and dysentery. It prompted a government order for all hospitals to attach body tags from 1863 on.

I didn't know a Constitutional Amendment proposed in March of 1861 would have halted all government interference in slavery. It was proposed to stop secession. Instead, four years later on December 18, 1865, the 13th Amendment abolished slavery altogether. The District of Columbia ended slavery on April 16, 1862, and even paid owners loyal to the Union $300 for each freed slave. It's amazing to me how some decisions are driven so much more by economics than morality.

Thomas Jefferson raised geese so he'd have quills for his pens. A goose only produces three to five good feathers for quill pens, and pens last about a week.

And twice I read the information about Hiram Rhodes Revels, the first African-American elected to the U.S. Senate in 1870. He even took Jefferson Davis' seat. How appropriately ironic! I could have browsed hours more and not scratched the surface.
Together Andy and I headed back to the Rotunda for a look at America's most treasured documents: the Declaration of Independence, the Constitution and the Bill of Rights. "You can read the Constitution, 'cause it was locked up in a drawer in the dark after it was completed," said a docent. "See, here's the signature of George Washington." He pointed to the Constitution. "And here is Thomas Jefferson and here, Benjamin Franklin. But the Declaration of Independence, now that's a different story. It was handled and passed around, 'cause the people were so excited about it. Why, they had it hangin' up on the wall for 40 years, includin' ten years exposure to sunlight opposite a window in the Patent Office Building. Imagine that!"

Now cool temperatures, low light levels and absolutely no photography preserve the most influential legal documents of all time.

What an exhausting day! We stopped at Legal Seafood on F Street to relax with a glass of Chardonnay. Metro reduced fare didn't take effect until 7 p.m. Crossing D Street, we watched a whole group of photographers move camera equipment. "It looks like a movie," said Andy.

"I'm checking it out," I declared.
"Sure, come in until someone throws you out," said a man moving an equipment box along the sidewalk. We just finished. We filmed a Washington D.C. lottery commercial."

"Guess we'll never see that one," I told Andy.

Our day's end at the Washington Monument did not include an opportunity to reach the top. All tickets had been distributed by 10 a.m. "How about tomorrow?" I asked Andy.

"No," he answered. "Ticket distribution opens at 8:30 a.m., we won't get here until 10 on the Metro, and it's supposed to rain. I don't want to wait in line to go to the top and not see anything."

"Then I guess we'll enjoy it now," I said. Surrounded by lighted American flags, the obelisk pointed skyward to a twinkling star-filled universe.

Metro Morning

By the time we reached the Lincoln Memorial in our walking tour of D.C., other tourists had gathered in small groups on the steps of the columned building. They posed with cheesy grins in front of the famous carving of Lincoln and leaned against the pillars and browsed in the small museum under the statue.

Designed by architect Henry Bacon of New York, the monument originally included an underground viewing area. "I guess that's a casualty of 9-11," I told Andy, when we descended the elevator to the lower level. For protection of people and property, the underground foundation isn't visible anymore. "Too bad. I always found it fascinating," I said.

So downstairs we read the descriptions about the carving. Artist Daniel Chester French studied death masks, books and photos of Lincoln before he planned the 19-foot statue. In Lincoln's face he wanted to show the struggles of a life filled with personal tragedy and disappointment, as well as the humanitarianism of the 16th President, who strove to maintain the ideals of the nation's founders. French understood that Lincoln used the power of his office to preserve the Union when 11 states seceded. In freeing the slaves in 1863, Lincoln left a legacy to freedom that is one of the most enduring birthrights of all Americans.

The statue, carved from Georgia marble by the Piccirilli Brothers of New York, captured Lincoln's emotions. Lincoln's speeches and murals of events during his life surrounded the statue. The display explained that the 28 blocks of stone had been carved so perfectly that seams were not visible in the statue. The 36 columns around the memorial represent the states in the Union at the time of Lincoln's death, only six days after General Robert E. Lee surrendered his troops at Appomattox Court House in Virginia, effectively ending the Civil War and reuniting the Union. I told Andy, "I think it's fitting that the names of all 48 states are carved at the top in the exterior walls and that Alaska and Hawaii are commemorated in the surrounding plaza. Lincoln stood for union, one nation inseparable. His memorial demonstrates that stance, all states incorporated in one memorial.
Family members and friends took etchings and left mementos at the Vietnam Veterans Memorial, as they have since its completion in 1982. That was the intent of designer Maya Ying Lin of Athens, Ohio, the 21-year old Yale student who won the national competition open to all U.S. citizens 18 years of age or older.

We walked past the Wall with 58,267 names inscribed in chronological order by date of casualty. "What a terrible waste," said Andy.

"I always get chills here," I told him. With ends pointing to the Washington Monument and the Lincoln Memorial, the Vietnam Veterans Memorial fulfilled the memorial criteria: 1. that it be reflective 2. that it harmonize with its surroundings 3. that it contain the names of all who died or remain missing 4. that it make no political statement.

Parents with school-age children stopped at the Faces of Honor statues. "This must be winter vacation time," I said to Andy. Many schools in the East had cancelled part or all of winter break to make up snow days. But parents at the memorial created learning experiences.
"Those are the emblems of the five services," said one father to a ten-year old boy. They named the emblems together. "Army, Navy, Air Force, Marines and Coast Guard."

I focused the camera on the faces in the bronze statue. The pamphlet said, "The contrast between the innocence of their youth and the weapons of war underscores the poignancy of their sacrifice."

The women's bronze of females coming to the aid of a fallen soldier recalled the courage and sacrifice of all women who served in Vietnam. "I like the idea that eight yellowwood trees around the statue offer a living tribute to the eight servicewomen who died," I told Andy.

"I know you haven't seen this one," said Andy, as we reached the World War II Memorial site. "It was dedicated in 2004."

"Right," I agreed. "The pamphlet says that its placement between the Washington Monument and Lincoln Memorial reflects the importance of World War II in preserving and spreading the ideals won under George Washington and defended under Abraham Lincoln. I don't get the arrangement of states though. It's not alphabetical, and it's not alternating alphabetical."

"Is it entry into the Union?" asked Andy.

"No, because I can't find Connecticut," I answered.

"Maybe it's coast--Atlantic or Pacific?" he suggested, but before I could deny the idea, he corrected himself. "Not coast. Connecticut is on the Pacific side."
We asked Volunteer Docent Martha at the information stand. "Oh, " she answered, grinning, "It is by the order in which states joined the Union, but they alternate on each side. Delaware is first. Alaska and Hawaii were placed at the end, because they were not yet states during World War II. Did you figure out the other six?"

"Sure," I said, "District of Columbia is obvious. And Puerto Rico, Guam, Virgin Islands and American Samoa are U.S. territories."

"And the Philippines?" she asked.

"They weren't independent then," said Andy.

"Good." said Martha. "It goes back to the Spanish American War. Because of the start of World War II, we did not grant independence to the Philippines until after the war in 1946."

We walked around the outside of the 56 pillars. "I don't like it as well as the others," said Andy, "but it probably looks better with the fountains going."

"It's bulky," I agreed, "but it was meant to show power and dominance, I think." The war changed the world and killed 50 million people. The monument touts America as liberator of a world falling to the forces of tyranny, according to the pamphlet. But more important, it recognizes and honors the 16 million U.S. citizens who served in uniform and the 400,000 who died serving our country. I thought about it as we walked on. The memorial should be big and bulky to show the price paid by American families and to celebrate American spirit, unity and victory.

Food for Thought

At no place was Economic Recovery more apparent than the memorials in Washington, D.C. The Jefferson Memorial had plastic sheets that kept visitors far outside, as workers repaired the retaining wall along the tidal basin. We walked all the way around the outside path to the street side entrance. "I've always liked this one best," I told Andy, "because of its classical elegance." Jefferson brought the circular colonnaded structure into use in this country, according to the pamphlet, and the memorial was dedicated by President Franklin D. Roosevelt on April 13, 1943, the 200th anniversary of Thomas Jefferson's birth.

The bronze statue of a standing Jefferson by Rudulph Evans dominated the center. It looked cleaned.

Although too early for cherry blossoms on the Japanese cherry trees, some of them weren't doing well with broken branches and only a few twisted limbs. Hopefully, the final recovery addresses the grounds keeping.

Circling around the Jefferson Memorial, we entered through the back end of the Franklin Delano Roosevelt Memorial. "It's too bad none of the fountains are running," said Andy, "especially on such a warm, lovely day."

I noticed a flock of robins pecking for worms in the soft earth and fluttering between branches. Freedom of speech, freedom of worship, freedom from want, freedom from fear. I read the carving in the red South Dakota granite wall. In his 1941 State of the Union Address, President Roosevelt spelled out his Four Freedoms to remind Americans why we prepared to fight World War II.

"I don't remember ever seeing the statue of Eleanor Roosevelt in here before this," said Andy.

"Maybe," I said. "I don't know, but I think it's fitting," I told him.

We walked our way forward through FDR's 12-year presidency and the four other outdoor rooms of the memorial to the Prologue Room. "That's new," said Andy. The Prologue Room included statues of Fala, Roosevelt's Scottie dog, and FDR in the wheelchair. "That's definitely new," said Andy, '"and what an inspiration for people with disabilities."

"I'm surprised," I said, "because it was FDR himself who never wanted the wheelchair showing." I read First Lady Eleanor's quote. "Franklin's illness... gave him strength and courage he had not had before. He had to think out the fundamentals of living and learn the greatest of all lessons--infinite patience and never-ending persistence.

"You ready to move on?" asked Andy. "Let's go."

I finished reading the panel first. It said, "One of this nation's greatest leaders, FDR spent each day of his 12-year presidency in a wheelchair."

Construction fences and mud surrounded the new Martin Luther King, Jr. Memorial called Stone of Hope. Located on the last major plot of ground right on the tidal basin and costing about $120,000,000.00, the tribute will be completed by late 2011. "They have lots of work to finish this year," I said to Andy, and he agreed.

A contingent of Korean men in business suits listened to a tour guide at the Korean War Memorial point out the message, "Freedom is not free." Flowers from the University of Seoul bent and swayed in the breeze near the forward soldier statue. The memorial was dedicated by President Bill Clinton and Kim Young Sam, President of South Korea, on July 27, 1995, the second anniversary of the armistice that ended the war.
The 19 stainless steel statues, separated by strips of granite and scrubby juniper bushes, depicted a squad on patrol in the rugged Korean terrain, while windblown ponchos recalled the harsh weather there. The symbolic patrol brought together men from various ethnic backgrounds, as well as members of U.S. Air Force, Army and Marines. Sun on the black granite wall mirrored the statues and intermingled images with those of unidentified service men etched in the stone. I thought about FDR's quote. "I have seen war... I hate war." It fit here too.
"How about coffee?" asked Andy. We picked a wrought iron table at the refreshment stand near the Lincoln Memorial. He left to buy two coffees, and I wiped off the outdoor table, chased away some sea gulls, and pulled two breakfast bars out of the backpack.

When Andy returned with the coffee, a tourist named Caroline sat down at the next table. "I'm from Michigan," she offered, placing part of a French fry on her table for a grackle perched nearby. "I'll take your picture."
"That would be nice, but I wouldn't feed the birds if I were you," I said politely. The grackle landed on the chair next to her and hopped to her table. A couple more landed on the chair back.

The first one picked up the fry and took off. Caroline turned to Andy, "Where are you from?" she asked, holding another potato piece to her mouth.

"Connecticut," he answered, pointing excitedly as a warning.

One bird reached forward and snagged a fry from her box on the table. She never even saw it happen. The other swooped in, grabbed the fry as she put it in her mouth, and flew off with it in his beak. Caroline threw up her hands and gasped in surprise.

I wanted to say, "Ma'am, there are reasons the signs say not to feed wildlife." Instead, I kept quiet! Maybe the grackles in Michigan are more polite or not as hungry.

Show Me the Money

Leaving Little Red at the motel in Arlington, we walked the quarter mile bicycle path to the Metro station, Falls Church East. Attendant Leon stepped out of the booth to help the minute he saw Andy reading machine directions. "Off-peak one-way to the Smithsonian stop costs $2.40 a person," he explained. "Just hit C when you are finished with each step."
Andy bought two round trip tickets. "We can't get on until the clock displays 9:30 a.m., and we won't be able to return until the Smithsonian stop clock shows 7:00 p.m. That's the off-peak rate, so we'll be in the city all day." Standing outside to catch the morning rays, we waited the 20 minutes until 9:30. "Tomorrow we won't need to come so early," said Andy. "I thought it would take us longer to walk here."
"Just don't leave me," I warned, as we dashed up the escalator steps at 9:31 a.m.
He had planned our guided tour of all the memorials on this picture perfect day. Bundled in jackets, we kept a brisk pace in the chill air. Tours at the Bureau of Engraving and Printing offered walk-in visits during February, and a hostess passed out tickets at the gate. We joined the 10:15 a.m. group.
"I think they should give samples," said Andy, as we checked through security.
"You wish!" I agreed.
"All cell phones, cameras, bags, purses, wallets and coins in the bucket," ordered the guard. He nodded to people one at a time to pass through the body scanner, while the buckets traveled through the big x-ray machine.
"Here you can see $20.00 bills in the presses," said the guide, ushering a group of about 30 into the second-floor observation hallway. "The government no longer makes $500, $1,000, $5,000, or $10,000 bills. There is a bill for $100,00.00 used by the Federal Reserve, but it's illegal for a civilian to have it." We discussed with other tourists whose picture was on the $100,000 bill. A few wrong guesses, a couple he looks familiars, and we figured out it was President Woodrow Wilson. The tour offered all kinds of interesting tidbits as we walked the corridors, looking down on the huge presses and cutting machines:
1. Bills are changed every 7 to 10 years to discourage counterfeiting.
2. The paper, actually 75 percent cotton and 25 percent linen fiber, is manufactured in Massachusetts and may only be sold to the federal government.
3. The printing process called Intaglio prints 32 green bills on one side and 32 black bills on the other. Soon the presses will be able to accommodate 50-bill sheets. The black side has the serial number in green. If a sheet is rejected, a star follows the replacement sheet serial numbers to indicate the second printing.
4. All bills are printed at the facility in Washington, D.C. or in Fort Worth, Texas. The notes do not become money until the Federal Reserve monetizes them, and 95 percent of the bills printed replace old bills that are retired. At any one time the two facilities together can print up to 907 million in a day, and the Washington, D.C. facility can process up to 200 million at one time.
5. A brick of bills includes 4,000 notes. A cash pack includes 16,000 notes and is shrink wrapped for shipping.
We moved to the examination room. "See that lady fanning the bundle?" asked the guide. "She does that with each bundle as a final check. Her job requires two years of training. The lady looked up and waved. She held up four fingers; the wad in her other hand was $4,000.
"This concludes our tour," said the guide. "Exit through the store. there you can learn how much you are worth in bills."
We tried to remember which famous American was on each denomination: Washington ($1.00), Jefferson ($2.00), Lincoln ($5.00), Hamilton ($10.00), Jackson ($20.00), Grant ($50.00), Franklin ($100.00) and Wilson ($100,000.00). We took turns standing in front of the sign to measure how tall we were in hundred dollar bills.
"This all started with six employees, and four of them were women," I told Andy as we left. "At least that's what I read on the sign coming in. Guess women always could handle the money!"
"But I'm worth more in height," he joked, looking up over his head at the sign.

Uncommon Valor

An inch of wet snow and a coating of ice covered Little Red when we checked out of the motel this morning. The white blanket was the first we had seen in weeks of winter, even if northern states lay buried. "It will last until the sun comes out," said Andy, "but that might be tomorrow." We drove north toward Washington, D.C.
Undergoing renovation, the Custis/Lee House had been totally stripped of all its furnishings. The evidence of President Barack Obama's Economic Recovery efforts was everywhere.
Irony. Icon of the South, Robert E. Lee married Mary Custis in tidewater Virginia, and years before that George Washington's marriage to Martha Custis earned him aristocratic status in tidewater Virginia society.
Irony. Sherman punished South Carolina because that state was first to secede, but South Carolina, home of the "Fire Eaters," was already a hotbed of radicals. It was also the only state that voted unanimously for secession.

Irony. For all his life Robert E. Lee believed in the Union. President Abraham Lincoln offered him a commission in the Union army based on Lee's allegiance, on all his letters that supported Union, and on all his comments that indicated secession was unacceptable. Then he remained faithful to Virginia.

We found our way to Arlington National Cemetery by 9:15 a.m. Snow covered the walks in a peaceful blanket. Workers, not so peaceful, busily scraped and blew ice from the walkways and steps. None of them wore ear protectors, Andy noticed. "That isn't smart," he said. We walked the grounds for two hours and watched the Changing of the Guard ceremony at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. I had forgotten about the statue in honor of Confederate soldiers who died during the Civil War. It was good to see; they were Americans too. Polarization today only pulls us more and more apart.

In silence we passed by the graves of Robert Kennedy, Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis, John F. Kennedy and their two children deceased at birth. The eternal flame flared with each gust of wind. Walking gingerly on the slippery marble, we read the quotes around the Kennedy Memorial. "Everyone needs to come here once in his life," said Andy, "to learn from our history, to understand what we have and to feel proud of this country, no matter what the political leanings."

Most snow had melted at the Iwo Jima Marine Memorial, and blue sky opened overhead. "Let's walk," I suggested, "but I'll switch to my warm coat first."

Andy pulled on a jacket over his sweatshirt. In spite of the bright sun, the temperatures in the mid-30's chilled us both.

The statue read, "Uncommon valor was a common virtue," certainly an apt description of the six men who planted a small American flag at the top of 550-foot Mount Suribachi, an extinct volcano on the Pacific island of Iwo Jima on January 23, 1945, and the six who followed with a larger flag after resistance was quelled. Stepping carefully to avoid puddles, we crossed the park to the Netherlands Carillon. The first tiny silver bell to President Harry Truman from Queen Julia of the Netherlands in 1952 symbolized friendship and represented a thank you from the Dutch people for liberation at the end of World War II (1945). President Bill Clinton accepted the 50th bell in 1995 to complete the Carillon, now a place where musicians perform chime concerts in the summer.

Figuring out the way around town without a detailed city map, Andy turned at Theodore Roosevelt Island. "The GPS is only going to take me on the toll roads," he said. We crossed the foot bridge over the Potomac and read the inscriptions on the four granite blocks on either side of the Roosevelt statue. "We've never been here in warm weather," said Andy. "This must be lovely when the fountains are operating. And they are doing lots of work. Did you see all the wood stashed in the fountain base by the bridge?"

I looked again.

"That's good wood," he added, "but it's warping, because it got wet. They must be going to shore up the sides of the reflecting pools."

A conservationist, Theodore Roosevelt would have appreciated the unpaved trails. We, however, turned back. The walk oozed with mud and mushy snow.
We headed north along the river, with Andy driving and me watching the map and road signs. "I want Great Falls," he insisted. "Just get me to Great Falls!"

"Sure," I thought, but I had more sense than to argue, especially after he missed a turn. Without too much difficulty we located Great Falls Park on the Potomac. At Mather Gorge the river drops 76 feet in a spectacular series of rapids. "We've never been here on the Virginia side of the river," said Andy, "and it was many years ago when we drove through the park on the Maryland side." A coating of soft snow covered the ground and left paths muddy. "Trails crisscross everywhere in this park," said Andy. He chose three short trails to the lookouts. Signs warned of unpredictable currents in the river and dangerous rock embankments.
"It says people die here every year," I told Andy, "especially when the water is low."

"That's probably because parents don't watch kids closely enough," he suggested.

"The sign says a fall means death," I read.

We picked our way over huge rocks and in between muddy crevices to the overlooks. Frighteningly beautiful, water surging over rapids mesmerized us. Originating in West Virginia, the Potomac gathered force for 358 miles. Constricted at Mather Gorge, it gushed over the jagged rocks in a deafening roar. A few small patches of blue sky set off the white clouds and white froth of the river. "This park boasts 30 different plant communities," said Andy. "That's got to be a botanist's dream. And three of the communities are found nowhere else in the world. Incredible!"
Quite by accident driving back toward the motel in Arlington, we passed the Lyndon Baines Johnson Memorial Grove. "That's what I was looking for when we ended up on the road to Great Falls," said Andy. We turned in, parked and walked across the inlet bridge. Eight sea gulls perched warily on both sides until we got too close for their comfort. Then they swooped down to the water. A plane roared overhead. "They have to follow the river when they take off here," said Andy. "It reduces noise over living areas." The LBJ Memorial, a single piece of red granite from Texas, stood in the center of a stone plaza, elegantly simple. But numerous plantings of white pine added to the natural beauty. The pebbled trail led around the island, past large hardwoods and patches of daffodils poking up between dried oak leaves. A sign attributed the flowers to Lady Bird Johnson and her beautification attempts while First Lady.
After checking in the motel, we headed back out, anxious to use every moment of the short week we have left. High up on a ridge over Arlington National Cemetery, the Air Force Memorial caught the cold wind driving in from the west. "It's really getting chilly," said Andy. The outdoor sculpture soared in three huge stainless steel arcs, like rockets shooting toward the sky. At each end slabs of polished black granite touted the ideals of the Air Force: integrity, service, excellence, valor, courage, sacrifice. And in the distance stretched the thousands of white marble grave markers of Arlington.

"See those helicopters?" said Andy, pointing toward the Washington Monument. "That could be the President heading to the White House." We watched. Soon one helicopter dropped down out of sight, not far to one side of the famous obelisk. The other two decoys kept going, separating and heading in different directions. "The third one landed at the White House," said Andy.

"That's interesting," I told him. "We were only miles from the President."

Finally we headed to the Pentagon Memorial, a tricky parking challenge late in the afternoon as people left work. What a touching tribute to the 184 people who died at the Pentagon on September 11, 2001, both in the building and on the hijacked American Airlines Flight 77. Surrounded by glasses, the plaza included 184 memorial units, small pools arched by identical sculptured free-standing illuminated benches. They were organized by year of birth, the youngest only three years old and the oldest, 71. Even relationships were evident with the names and birth years of family members etched in each pool. The pain and sorrow of September 11 swept over me as we walked in silence around the memorial. Andy just shook his head. I knew we shared the same thoughts.

Ooh-rah!

Today must have been a make-up snow day here. All the kids were in school.
Huge grey clouds moved in by noon. "This looks like a November sky," I told Andy in the morning, but temperatures went up instead of down.
"I think it will rain by 2 p.m.," he said, "but it's going to be drizzle, since weathermen predicted only a quarter inch for here by tomorrow morning."
Our first stop, Wilderness Battlefield, stretched over rolling hills of mature woods. But in May of 1864, the area, deforested and marred by soot and ashes from foundries, was a tangle of dense undergrowth and brambles. Two main roads pierced these thickets, scene of two days of intense grappling on May 5-6, that ended in a ghastly fiery stalemate, with soldiers on both sides caught in the inferno. We read the interpretive sign. It said, "On no American battlefield did the landscape do more to intensify the horror of combat."
Here Major General Ulysses S. Grant, promoted to general of the army of the U.S. after the war, told Major General George G. Meade, "Lee's army will be your objective point. Wherever Lee goes, there you will go also." Meade obliged, and the Wilderness was the first collision. The two-mile loop trail that incorporated much of Confederate Major General John B. Gordon's May 6 flank attack was for us a pleasant walk in an oak forest with mountain laurel and holly instead of a gloomy crawl through an overgrown thicket of bramble bushes. Some of the heaviest and most confused fighting occurred near Saunders Field. Here the Union repeatedly repulsed Confederate charges. Near the intersection of Brock Road and Orange Plank Road, General James Longstreet was injured by his own men during a flank attack, but the Texans saved Robert E. Lee's life just a short distance away. In the confusion of the Wilderness, only 12 cannon and Lee's staff separated Lee from Grant's forces. When Lee turned to lead the charge and meet almost certain death, Longstreet's Texans screamed, "Lee to the rear!" and wouldn't move until he complied.
"Wait for me," I called to Andy. I tried to read, photograph and walk at the same time. Fighting had swirled around the Catherine Tapp farm, now just a stone marker. Tapp, dirt poor, was worth barely $100 in total, with four cows and seven pigs. At the Higgerson farm, old Pernelia Higgerson berated Union soldiers as they marched over to Saunders Field and back. She said they wouldn't last.
Some time later, with the Confederate army dangerously split, Lieutenant General Ambrose P. Hill and General Thomas Ewing conferenced at the Chewning farm. A hole they cut in the roof allowed them to see Grant pull his forces out and head south. The stalemate was only a psychological victory for the Union. The soldiers cheered him, knowing that heading south was not retreat; there would be no turning back.
Both sides had almost won huge victories at the Wilderness, and both sides inadvertently missed opportunities to dominate in the end. We read later that one good set of walkie-talkies might have changed the whole outcome on either side. When the thickets caught on fire, the Wilderness became an inferno for all, and another year of war followed.

At Spotsylvania Court House Grant's law of attrition impacted Lee. "I'll wear him down," said Grant. At Bloody Angle, a bulge in the Confederate defense, Grant broke through by sending more and more soldiers on the offensive near the Mule Shoe Salient. Heavy fighting, some of the bloodiest in the war, swirled around the Neill McCoull farm on May 10, 1864, and again on May 12. Andy and I walked around the foundation. Quiet fields and groves of trees stretched in every direction from the small rise. McCoull had been away the day of the battle, and his three sisters hid in the basement. They emerged to carnage on May 10. Weeks later, 1,492 Union soldiers were buried in their front yard. Only a grassy knoll remains. In tact earthworks mark Heth's Salient where General Henry Heth repulsed Major General Ambrose Burnside's Union corps. Farther along the Fredericksburg Road Union soldiers held the lifeline to Fredericksburg. Lee tried repeatedly but failed to dislodge them. His biggest gain militarily was the death of the highest general killed in the war, General John Sedgwick. Admonishing his troops about the lack of danger from sharpshooters and their inability to hit anything, Sedgwick was shot through the head by a sharpshooter.

This tumultuous battle embodied the horror of civil war. "It shocks me," said Andy, "how little the generals valued the lives of the soldiers." Grant needed a decisive victory for Lincoln and kept sending in more troops. Lee denied him but lost thousands in the process.
Our weather deteriorated as we walked to Old Salem Church from the parking area. With bullet holes still visible, the red brick church on the corner stood as a symbol of refuge and peace. When battle swarmed around it, the church of about 100 members--20 of them black--sheltered wounded from both armies. Years later a larger congregation donated the building to the federal government as part of the National Military Park when they built a larger sanctuary across the street. The interpretive sign explained how the church remembered the suffering of families. Soldiers from both armies during the Civil War helped themselves to anything they could consume or carry from the small farms in the area. Most of these operated with two or three slaves working alongside the masters. With masters gone to war and slaves emancipated, only women, children, aged and infirm were left to keep farms operating. No wonder the South took years to recover!

Traffic around Salem Church lined the road bumper-to-bumper. "Isn't Presidents' Day a big shopping time?" asked Andy. At noon everyone looked for bargains at Central Park Plaza and Sears.

The wind picked up as we drove north toward Washington, D.C. "Twenty-five m.p.h." predicted the weathermen, but temperatures held warm in the 50's, so the wind was only a nuisance. "Still no snow, Sue," said Andy. "No sign of snow today." And the heavy grey skies were not going to give us any either. At 12:21 p.m. rain pelted down. The leading edge of the front was at hand, and it was time to plug Little Red's front passenger window with tissue.

The National Museum of the Marine Corps pleaded for donations of $52.6 million to complete all the displays at the complex in Triangle, Virginia. But the galleries already completed presented an incredible life-size picture of Marine "core" values--honor, courage and commitment--and Corps history since the founding on November 10, 1775.

That was when the Continental Congress authorized Captain Samuel Nicholas, usually considered the first commandant of the corps, to organize two battalions. He recruited at Philadelphia's Tun Tavern, and recruits earned the nickname Leathernecks because of their leather collars. From Day One, Nicholas recruited all able-bodied men without discrimination, and the first Black Marine joined in 1776.

In addition to collections of objects like weapons, uniforms, letters and 8,000 works of art, life-size action displays invited visitors to feel a part of the scene in what English author Rudyard Kipling called, "The savage war of peace." Displays ranged from an early mission in October 1857 to free hostages taken by John Brown at Harpers Ferry to hand-to-hand combat in Bellau Woods, France for halting the 1918 German advance on Paris to Khe Sanh Hill 881 in 1968 Vietnam, when Marines said, "It was all one big battle" and "We lived like moles." Those Marines learned to stuff socks in their mouths to avoid burst eardrums from exploding bombs.
"Did you see all the planes?" asked Andy.

"What planes?" I asked. High overhead every display hovered an aircraft typical of the era. I had so involved my senses in the immediate action, I hadn't looked up. Together Andy and I browsed the gallery about Operation New Arrivals when between April and November of 1975, 50,000 refugees from Vietnam, 38 percent of them children, immigrated to the U.S.

Upstairs, the museum included a cafeteria and Tun Tavern, a replica of the Philadelphia bar from 1775. We chose two stools at the far corner and ordered two glasses of blush wine and a triple chocolate caramel brownie sundae to share. "The Marines never had it so good!" said Andy.

"Ooh-rah!" I echoed in response.