Drizzle in D.C.

As we stepped outside and headed toward the National Gardens and the United States Botanic Garden greenhouses, grey clouds hung low and heavy.

"I hope the rain holds off a while longer," said Andy.
We walked through the outdoor garden, mostly devoid of green in late February. Rose bushes in the Margaret Hagedorn Rose Garden poked up dead-looking stalks and the First Ladies Water Garden granite pools lay empty and dry.
"Wrong time of year to see much here," said Andy. "Let's go inside."

Stepping through double doors, we breathed in the blast of warm, moist air and everything came to life. Even through my fogged-up glasses, all was green.

"That's the dinosaur tree," said Andy, pointing to a seven-foot pine.

"Araucariacaeae," I read. The species, Wallemi pine, discovered in the Blue Mountains of Australia in 1994, is thought to be 65 millions years old.
For an hour we twisted our way between desert cactus and succulents, up and down stairs in the 93-foot high jungle canopy, around displays of rare and endangered species, by hundreds of orchids and into the showings of spring blooms, like hyacinths and giant begonias. The USBG collection of orchids alone numbers about 5,000 specimens. And spring flower perfumes smelled wonderful.

Congress was not in session, or I would never have let Andy walk me near the Capitol without going in.

"You can't anyway," he said. "You don't have a ticket."
"You're kidding!" I answered, amazed. So often in the past I had escorted groups of seniors into the seat of representative government, but then again it wasn't in February. Skies looked darker as we walked to the National Gallery of Art, East Wing, but surprisingly no rain dampened the day. "We have lucked out again," said Andy. "Forecasts predicted rain before noon. Now it's 2:15 p.m., and we're still okay."

For another hour or more we browsed in the East Building of the National Gallery of Art. The oils of Canaletto on display illustrated the "view painters," whose achievements "count among the most brilliant in 18th century art." We looked at the 21 masterworks of the city of Venice by Canaletto and 34 more by rivals like Guardi and Bellotto. Not as knowledgeable as I wish I were about art, I could certainly distinguish between Canaletto and Bellotto, even if their names showed Italian similarities.

Dribbles of rain started by the time we walked to the Navy Memorial and then to the Old Post Office, but with hoods on our jackets, the dribble wasn't enough to get us wet. I even left the umbrella in the day pack.

"This is one of the locations where We the People constitutional law contests announced the Top Ten states," I explained to Andy, as we entered the building. "We came here more than once on the Sunday night after two days of competition to find out which best ten teams would compete in the finals on Monday."
"And you never went to the top of the building?" he asked.

"The Old Post Office closes at 4:30 p.m. We came for dinner and a dance with a couple thousand kids. I didn't know there WAS a top," I told him.

The elevator and 129 steps took us to the 20-foot observation deck in the tower of the 110-year old Old Post Office for views of the nation's capital. We read an informative placard. "This was the first federal building erected on Pennsylvania Avenue, the first steel frame building constructed in Washington, D.C. and the first government building designed with its own electrical power plant."

The view from the 12th floor overlooked the city: Capitol Building, White House, Washington Monument, Smithsonian, Supreme Court, Lincoln Memorial, Pentagon. Even with overcast skies and a light rain, the view amazed us.

The Ditchery Foundation of Great Britain change-ringing bells occupied a lower floor. Cast in three-fourths copper and one-fourth tin, they replicated the bells of Westminster Abbey in London. Intended for the Capitol, the ten bells were placed in the Old Post Office for structural reasons. No wonder. They range in weight from 581 pounds to 2,953 pounds.

"I'd love to hear them," I told Andy.
"Sorry," he said. "They only ring on federal holidays."

Later I read that the Washington Ringing Society practices on Thursday nights from 7:00 to 9:00 p.m. We could have waited a couple hours. But the rain had started. I didn't argue when Andy headed back toward the Metro station around 5:00 p.m. Rain dampened the sidewalks. Little did I realize at the time that by this hour tomorrow, we would drive home. The weather, the primary factor in his decision to return a few days early, had dealt its deadly blow.