Clear sound and foggy bottoms

Marley and I went for a walk this morning. Our preferred path is along the fire trails that run through a large tract of undeveloped land nearby. Today, however, the grounds crews were on the trails, clearing away fallen trees and branches. We kept our distance and Marley was on the leash for most of the walk.

We knew that the crews were in the woods because sound travels so much further these days. The leaves are down and there's no snow yet. The chain saws and ATVs traded solos with the ducks in the pond and the down-shifting trucks on Main Street. It'll be quiet again soon and we'd gladly trade a bit clatter for a 60-degree day so late in the season.

There was a sign in the van that took Sandra and me from Reagan Airport to the hotel:

Its (sic) state law:
No Smoking
Fasten Seat Belts

Ever the dreamers. Washington, D.C. isn't a state or even in a state. [Insert your own joke here.]

We stayed at a nice hotel a few blocks from the White House and were delighted to discover products from niece Lori's company in our bathroom. Now, I'm more of a soap kind of guy when I wash my hair, but the mint and thyme wash smelled nice and was soothing outside and inside my head.

We had our Thanksgiving dinner that couldn't be beat at the restaurant where we had lunch after my mother's funeral service. Good humor prevailed in the crowded restaurant. We had good seats and a good meal. (You don't find many classy restaurants that serve liver and bacon.)

It's not surprising that Washington is a richly multi-cultural city, particularly on Thanksgiving weekend. You have all kinds of people who can't or don't want to go back home: foreign students, diplomats, spies, trembling Republicans. There are the firm and the infirm. There are those, too, for whom D.C. is home. So an Escalade is parked next to an Astro van and somehow, as with our democracy, it all works.

After dinner we went for a walk and that's where some of my lug nuts started to rattle. Sandra had wanted to see the new World War II memorial and possibly the Martin Luther King memorial, both recent additions to the Washington Mall. I had no recollection of the plan, no idea even what the Washington Mall was, let alone where it was. Added to that, it was a foggy evening, although there was no doubt that I brought my own fog with me.

I knew that I'd have memory loss after the treatments, but I didn't expect that it would be like this. Not knowing something is troublesome enough, but not knowing that you don't know, well, you'd better hope that the person with you is loving and patient.

It was only after we'd walked a while toward the Washington Monument that I started to have a clue about what was happening and what it meant. We made our way to the WWII and Lincoln memorials and the Wall. We'll visit MLK on another trip.

On Friday morning, the air clear and fresh, we set out to Arlington National Cemetery via the city's delightful public transit system, the Metro. We kept calling it the T and by day's end worked our way to calling it the M. The cars are clean and comfortable; there's plenty of good information about what's where. We made it across (under) the river and into Virginia easily.

The cemetery, sadly, is huge with room for more. It's a mile walk from the visitor's center to the columbarium where Linc and my mother rest. (A columbarium is also know as a dovecote, where doves are kept.) The walk is full of reverence and history. Some came here young, some old soldiers, some old pacifists, all trying, in their own ways, to keep us free.

My wits were good enough to get our airplane reservations changed to an earlier flight on Saturday, but we had an, um, interesting time because I couldn't connect the dots in my mind to find a clear path home. Fortunately, Rhode Island politicians worked the system well, so that there were plenty of ways to get from there to here.