D.C. Part 1

Three girls / one destination- starting off 2009 on the right foot. Actually, on six very tired, aching feet. We headed to Washington, D.C. at six a.m. in Mallory’s massive beast of a vehicle, with our bags packed and energies overflowing… (ok Mallory’s energy overflowing) and we arrived mid-afternoon at Connecticut Ave.’s Days Inn.

The first evening we spent getting acquainted with our hotel room- (or crackhouse or whatever… tomatoes/tomatoes). Droofus aka Drew (our hotel manager with the attractive cracknail) was of little use to us when we realized our hotel room was pretty shitty, so we consoled ourselves with Thai food. And exploring Dupont Circle.

What The Castro is to San Francisco, Dupont Circle is to D.C. The highlight of the night for me was visiting Lambda Rising, D.C.’s first gay bookstore. After opening in 1974, this store ran the world's first gay-oriented television commercial. (thanks for the side note, wikipedia!) I was incredibly happy to be there, but did not get all teary-eyed as Mallory did over the Washington Monument… (yes, the feminist in me threw up a little at that sight, but the rest of me was just as excited).

The next day we walked around the Capitol building, the Supreme Court, the Library of Congress, Washington Monument, and inside the National American Indian Museum- (yes, the orgasm of the day for moi). If I remember correctly, there was a trip to Kramerbooks that evening as well? It was a cute place when the fire alarm was not sounding, and when people were not laughing at how Mallory, Georgia, and I were the only ones responding to it.

Wednesday was overwhelming and exhausting on many levels. We stalked Obama/hung around the White House, feeding the White House squirrels - (random but necessary; those things are fat/hungry/scary animals)- and observing the construction going on for Inauguration. We went to the Natural History museum and The Holocaust Museum, (which obviously left us bewildered/crying/feeling powerless), so we spent the night at our hotel enjoying a bit of wine-therapy. Mallory + me + merlot = great times.
I think we all needed a drink after that intense afternoon. Even after taking a course on Genocide/the Holocaust, there were still certain subjects that moved me to tears, and facts that left me speechless- (I never knew that women were given awards for continuing the Aryan race; the more babies they had to ensure the survival of said race, the better! talk about fucking systematic rape)- And what truly rubbed me the wrong way was how many people we witnessed laughing/talking on cell phones/etc. IN THE MUSEUM in rooms that were supposed to be silent. Such indifference is sickening.
The exhibits (seeing the hair/shoes/baggage belonging to the victims) reminded me of my neighbor growing up. "Uncle George" as I always called him was a survivor of concentration camps in Poland. When I was a kid in North Attleboro I recall my family eating dinner with him and his wife often, and I distinctly remember something he seemed to repeat like a broken record. Whenever there was a meal on the table, he discussed how grateful he was to be in America, to be free, to have food in his stomach. He would describe the tremendous hunger/starvation he experienced, and remind us to never take our privileges/liberty for granted. To my five-year-old awareness, his mini-lectures meant little... I had no understanding of true suffering...But looking back, I realize how important it was for him to talk about his history, and I am in awe of my old neighbor. His capacity for happiness remained, throughout all forms of torture and slavery. And his drive to succeed (as well as his refusal to forget) served him well.

Visiting the Holocaust Museum reminded me of this & so many other things; maintaining a sense of appreciation for life, and its simple joys, is essential... Finding bliss is hard to do when you take fundamental freedoms/experiences, like eating food or having privacy or whatever, for granted.
When I worry that I am beginning to forget this truth, I read my old neighbor's memoir. (if interested, check it out here: http://search.barnesandnoble.com/The-Boy-Who-Would-Be-Free/George-Labedz/e/9781403375308)
Freedom is not free-- not everybody is fortunate enough to attain it in our war-torn world... and I know I'm not the only one who came back from D.C. CRAZY MOTIVATED to do something about that fact.