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We have been out and about with my sister and her family since their arrival. We started at Mount Vernon on Saturday. It is a lovely place and I highly recommend it. When we first entered, we got behind a tour group. We didn’t understand much of what the tour guide said. I suspect it was because she was speaking Spanish. We then came upon a replica of the Liberty Bell. Zeke enjoyed ringing it. At Mount Vernon, people dressed in period costumes stand at different locations and repeat the same speech over and over to everyone who walks by. At the replica Liberty Bell, the guy spoke of the tree that provided the wood for the cross brace and then cautioned everyone, “Grab the rope, pull it hand over hand slowly, not too fast or you’ll hurt your ears.” You can usually determine by the sound of the bell whether or not the individual speaks English. I enjoyed looking through the house. The baby crib and the key to Bastille were unique. I suspect that Rich enjoyed looking at the farm. Although he has been an Electrical Engineer for years, I believe he still has a fondness for chicken coops and barns. Marie enjoyed the museum and would not be hurried by her sister who enjoys glancing at a few things while moving forward at a steady pace. All the kids, save Zeke, loved the film about the battle of Yorktown. The seats shook during bombardment and they blew fog and snow at you. It was loud and had a few fight scenes, so Zeke cried throughout most of it. At one point I tried to take my hands off his ears to point to the falling snow, but he screamed and grabbed my hand back. When it was done, all the kids were talking about how great it was and he joined the chorus, informing me that he liked it. I sometimes think I make a great tour guide. Then, I do something like leave Mount Vernon on the wrong road and don’t realize my mistake until I’m about to cross the Potomac River. Note to self: “Just because the road you are on dead ends into Mount Vernon, you can not assume that it is the only road that dead ends into Mount Vernon.” When we left home, I had written my directions down and constantly checked them on the drive there to keep my self on track. My sister thought it a bit unnecessary. I told her that she didn’t understand how easily I can get lost. On our departure from Mount Vernon, she was able to see for herself. The interstate home was at a crawl, so we got on Highway 1 which was also at a crawl, but has the added bonus of a Five Guys and JoJo’s Ice cream stand along the way.

Our next tour consisted of walking the three mile loop of DC monuments. We started at FDR which everyone liked, visited Jefferson, walked past the Washington monument, through the WWII memorial, along the Vietnam wall, up Lincoln’s steps, and past the Korean memorial on the way back. Visiting the memorials on the Mall is the best part of DC. Some, I am incredibly fond of and others not so much, but I love to walk them. Every time someone jogged past me, I would think, “In just over a month, that could be Dale running during his lunch break.” When we lived in Canberra, he loved to run the bridges during lunch and I imagine he’ll pick up the habit again. It will be a bit more scenic of a route than his current tank trail.

After the monuments, I drove home and the Wiitas went to the Air and Space museum. They touched the moon rock, looked at the pictures of the Hubble Telescope, and wandered amidst all the planes and rockets. On Tuesday, we attended our official tours of the Capitol and Library of Congress that Marie had arranged through her Minnesota Senator. We started in the Senate office building and we were escorted by an Intern who was on break from University. He was a very nice, engaged the kids, pointed things out, but kept us moving. We got to ride the train that runs underground between the Senate offices and the Capitol. Zeke and I thought that was great fun. I had ridden on it when I visited DC during high school and was just as thrilled about it 20+ years later. We stared in amazement at the columns and statues and paintings. We saw King Kamehameha’s statue in the corner and thought fondly of the Wiita visit to Hawaii. After our tour, we ate in the Senate Cafeteria. There was a time not long ago, when I avoided cafeterias at all cost, but I was actually happy to pick up my tray and push it along the stainless steel track. I’m afraid there may be no going back and I’ll end up like my Father who I kept thinking would love the place. After lunch, we walked through the Botanic Gardens which were a small bit of peaceful beauty in the midst of the busy city where drivers like me unintentionally view the Capitol from all directions. It was all going so well.

Then, our tour luck ran out at the Library of Congress. I do not have a fondness for tours, unless my tour guide moves quickly and tells me a few interesting tidbits I don’t know. We were the dividing line for two separate groups and my sister tried to signal me that it would be better if we stayed with the final group. I have had 41 years to learn that my sister is always right, and have spent 41 years defying her decisions. I led us all into the middle group. From the minute our tour guide started speaking, I once again was forced to acknowledge that my sister is always right. He talked on and on and on and on and on and on about the architecture and art of the building. He pointed out every Roman goddess, explained every cherub, talked about statue size, told us of every paint color, and type of marble used. He had a script in his head and there was no stopping him. The question asking people were answered with a part of the script even if it didn’t apply at all. “Books!” I wanted to scream. “The Library of Congress is about books!” “Why won’t you tell us anything about books?” As a painful hour went by, I began plotting how to extract 11 people from a tour group of 25 without getting noticed. When we finally got up into the main Reading Room overlook, people collapsed onto the floor and put their heads into their hands. Never take the tour of the Library of Congress. Walk in, look around yourself, and walk out in an hour. When you see the tour group standing with a glazed look in their eyes, pass quickly by lest you get entrapped listening to the occupations of each and every cherub on the staircase.

My sister and her family arrived today. Although I was behind schedule as usual, they had traffic delays from a flooded Interstate and an accident. So, I thought I would pull it off and have dinner on the table the minute they walked in the door. Really, this goal is impossible for all save my Mother, who greets you with an apron on and a hot meal ready. The lasagna was in the oven and I was upstairs putting clean sheets on the bed when Gabe came running in the room. “Blaze ate Zeke’s sock!”, he proclaimed. I immediately googled “dog ate sock” and discovered it is not a rare occurrence. Experience said wait it out or give the dog hydrogen peroxide to cause vomiting. Off I dashed to the pharmacy (chemist). (I haven’t done that in a while and quite miss it.) There is a pharmacy near me where everyone is unhelpful. I usually drive to the one farther away, but I was in a hurry. As usual, everyone was unhelpful and it took me quite awhile to find hydrogen peroxide. While I was wandering the aisles of the pharmacy, my sister and her family arrived at my house. Gabe held open the door, Abby and Josiah stood quietly, and Zeke was asleep. Without their obnoxious Mother to run outside and yell welcome, they were at a loss as to what to do. They had made the welcome sign, at least. Initial greetings have not been very positive in my family lately. Upon my brother Howie’s arrival at my brother Rob’s house last week, Rob told me he couldn’t talk on the phone. He had to deal with a car seat covered in vomit. Anyway, I returned home and greeted my guests, but was soon outside with Blaze giving him a dose. Meanwhile, Marie and Rich had to serve the dinner and get themselves settled in their rooms. I was now on sock watch, but Blaze was not cooperating. He did not vomit. So, I gave him another dose. Still, he did not vomit. Instead, he ran around like a nut. For fear of poisoning my dog, I stopped. So, now I wait and I watch to see which way the sock will come out. My husky Czar ate all kind of things and I never worried about him becoming ill. When he was sick, I would tell him, “It’s your fault for eating that.” He got no sympathy. Czar was not crated. Instead, he was given the guest room to destroy. One day, I arrived home to discover him laying on top of the mattress with stuffing covering the room. The room appeared covered in snow. Czar looked up at me with a mouth full of stuffing. He looked like Santa Claus. If I wasn’t so mad, I would have laughed. Czar also pulled out the dresser drawers and ate the rollers off the tracks. He pulled the screens out of the windows and chewed them to bits. He ate the cord of an alarm clock. Never did I rush out and try to get something to help him. “Serves you right for eating that.”, I’d say. But with Blaze, here I am up at O dark thirty, worrying. Somewhere along the way, I’ve gotten soft.

Before joining the Army, I was never averse to going to a doctor. I recall having pneumonia at 14 and having to swallow penicillin in big giant horse pills. But when you join the Army you discover the great shame of going on sick call. My favorite sick call scene occurred at Airborne school. In the morning, everyone would be lined up in a giant formation and a Black Hat would stand out front and yell “Sick Call…Fall out to my right, your left…Sick Call…Fall out to my right, your left!…Go to the white house and have some milk and cookies…Sick Call…Fall out to my right, your left!” He would follow that up by: “Quitters…All Quitters…Fall out to my right, your left…Quitters…All Quitters…Fall out to my right, your left!” Even if you were dying, you wouldn’t dare walk out in front of formation and subject your self to the shame of going to the white house. If you were just a little sick, there was no point in going to sick call. The doctor would listen to your complaint, give you some motrin, and send you home. I would usually wait until I was certain bronchitis had set in before I would stumble to the doctor in a daze, because I’d been up 5 nights in a row coughing. Even years after getting out of the Army, I’m still adverse to Sick Call. However, I had hit my 5 nights in a row of coughing limit, so I went to the doctor this morning. She said I was just short of bronchitis, and gave me penicillin which is no longer in horse pill size. She also gave me the cough medicine with codeine in it which is handled now like a controlled substance. I had to sign a paper with my name, address, and phone number and was told repeatedly that I would get no more. I’ve always wondered about the white house with its milk and cookies. Does it really exist or is it just a figment of a Black Hat’s imagination?

Today, Dale and I celebrate 18 years of marriage. It is usually the one celebration day where there is always a conflicting activity. Dale’s in the field, I’ve just had a baby, we’re moving, Dale’s TDY, we have to attend a school function, Abby’s never ending birthday parties, or Dale’s deployed. Something always interferes with the celebration. We did spend one anniversary at a hotel on Waikiki. It was quite lovely and courtesy of the US Army as it was our lodging prior to leaving for our next assignment. When we were first together, Dale’s gift giving was a bit hit and miss. One time he gave me a purple velour track suit. Although I do love to wear sweats, I had not yet moved to Florida and turned 70. Dale usually purchased gifts the night before as he wandered dazedly around Walmart or the Mall. After awhile, I began to direct his search more clearly as I realized it really wasn’t something he could figure out on his own. Kind of like me trying to figure out how to upload pictures to the blog. I gave him lists of item choices with sizes and colors and directed him to particular jewelry stores. To his relief and mine, he discovered proflowers.com. Amazingly, after 18 years of marriage, he has figured it out. Since he has been in Iraq, the kids and I have received very nice gifts. All the gifts have been unique and arrived well in advance of the occasion. Abby’s birthday gift and my anniversary gift arrived last week. Abby received an imitation designer pink clutch bag that she loves, and I received perfume. I do not like very many perfumes, because their scents have a tendency to overwhelm me. However, the perfume Dale sent is lovely. I find it remarkable that he entered a perfume shop, smelled the scents and chose one I would like. I, on the other hand, have been dreadful lately with gift giving. He was home for his birthday, but the gift I got for him did not arrive in time and he won’t receive the anniversary card I sent until tomorrow. If I continue down this path of negligence, I fear Dale will soon receive a purple velour track suit of his own. With it, he could wear the gold chain that his sister Tami sent him years ago. Then I’ll know he’s ready for retirement. Although, that will probably force us to move to Florida on a future anniversary.

I am not a morning person. My mother is, my roomate from college is, my husband is. I am not. I am a night owl. I would be happiest to stay up until 0200 and sleep in until 1000. However, having to get children to school in the morning doesn’t allow sleeping in.  Now with the puppy, I dazedly greet the dawn. We had a strong thunderstorm last night, so this morning the grass was sparkling a vivid green and the birds were singing a song of thanksgiving. After feeding Blaze, I played fetch with him. He does great at chasing the ball, picking it up in his mouth and walking back in my direction. However, he waits for me to reach for the ball, dodges, and trots off in another direction forcing me to chase him down to get the ball back. He thinks this is great fun.  At O dark thirty, I do not agree that this is great fun. I then take him for a walk. Taking him for a walk mostly consists of standing on the side of the road waiting for him to move forward. This morning, the first “I will not walk on this leash” refusal lasted 2 1/2 minutes. We then moved forward 5 paces, and the next “I will not walk on this leash” refusal lasted 1 1/2 minutes. The pulling back lessoned as we moved along with more walking and less refusing. I began to feel like I had won, when he decided to refuse to walk for 5 minutes. During that time, I waved to my neighbors headed to work, received sympathy from fellow dog walkers who had experienced it themselves (”It only lasted 6 months.” 6 months? That’s an encouragement?), and considered my personal state of disarray. When you make a mad dash out the door with a puppy who will pee on your carpet if you don’t hurry, You don’t really take time to freshen up. When a neighbor, wearing pajama pants, walked by with her dog, my bad feelings about my state of dress lessened. Once I turned back towards home, Blaze was full speed ahead and practically ran back to the house. We then did a survey of the yard so Blaze could attempt to pick up every stick that had fallen from the trees during the storm. It doesn’t matter if the stick is 6 feet long, and he is 10 inches high, he is going to carry it. During our survey, I was dismayed to discover the bluebird house face down on the ground. It must have been blown down in the storm. I picked it up, leaned it against the tree, and discovered three baby birds and one egg on the ground. The baby birds were barely moving. It was a sad sight. Suddenly the mother bird flew out of the house. Apparently, she had been trapped in there with them. Using a bag from my pocket, I gently lifted the baby birds and egg back into the nest in the box. I then nailed the box back onto the tree. I saw the mother bird fly back in, but I would be amazed if the baby birds lived. The birds are not blue birds. Some other bird had taken over the box after my Mom had chased out the flying squirrel. The flying squirrel babies also ended up on the ground. This box has not been a very safe home for it’s inhabitants.  When I saw the birds, I thought of the verse “Are not two sparrows sold for a penny?  Yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from the will of your Father.  And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered.  So don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.”  “The will of your Father” is often difficult.  It’s a hard verse for me.  I want all happiness, togetherness and peace.  Yet the world has much sorrow, separation, and war.  This sunrise had much beauty, but it’s difficult to see it when sadness intrudes.