Mall Rats - The Longest Day of Vacation (Part 3: We Go To War)

"Excuse Me, where did you get the shirts?"

"They were giving them out just over there."

He pointed in the general direction of the Washington Monument. I was on a mission. These were better than my collection of radio station, movie promo, volunteer worker shirts that I had collected over the years. These were souvenirs. I could avoid paying $30.00 for one shirt and get three free ones instead. I was going to get these shirts.

However, there was business to take care of on this end of the mall. I glanced longingly into the reflecting pool, or I wish I could. It was currently under repair and was just a mud pit behind chain link fence. The shirts would have to wait.

Colette was already on the phone with her parents. We were going to the Vietnam War Memorial, and she had called to see if her dad had any names that he wanted her to look up. As is the case with almost all conversations with her parents over the phone, or in person, this one was leading to more confusion than when Celine Dion opened for ICP.

The collaboration soon ended when Joseph Bruce felt Celine dissed him in her song It's For You when she said, "Quelques fois je dis des mots bizarres."

Her dad was working on the lawn so her mom had answered the phone. Somehow the message shouted over the roar of the hedge trimmers became somewhat confused as it was relayed to Colette. A call would be forthcoming that would clarify the situation. 

We decide to eat lunch and during the sandwich and chips meal we ordered at a snack shop the phone rang. Colette's mom thinks she finally got the name right so Colette takes the last few bites of her sandwich and heads back to the memorial to find the name in the directory. Meanwhile I watched Evan chase pigeons and trying to feed them his lunch. As soon as I said that we were going to find mom, his legs began to hurt again. If only the pigeons would follow my lead. 

We eventually found the name on the wall which turned out to be an old neighbor of Colette's mom, and not a war buddy as we had thought.

Nothing funny to say here.

While all of this was going on I was also on the prowl for a park ranger. I found one at an information kiosk. Though he had no information on the free t-shirts I did learn that the Junior Ranger program was happening at the Jefferson Memorial so we wanted to make sure that Evan got there. Colette kept insisting that she wanted to go to the Holocaust museum, and all I could think about was that there were now less free shirts than there were half an hour ago. 

I plotted a path on the map of the mall that would get us to all three locations, but as far as I was concerned the free t-shirt was the primary objective. Who cares about the experience if you don't have a t-shirt to commemorate it? 

This path first took us by the Korean War Memorial depicting a number of soldiers marching with heavy loads. Evan of course was fascinated with the soldiers, but the irony of their marching juxtaposed with his aching legs was lost on him. 

Honeycutt and Hawkeye never had to walk this far.

Next on the trek, once we passed the interminable fence blocking our view of the reflecting pit, was the WWII Memorial. 


The buzz of insects swarming my face formed a cacophonous melody with the plaintive whine of Evan's discomfort like a preschool marching kazoo band being followed by fire engine sirens in a parade honoring aural assault.

Not pictured, the fire engines.

For the next leg of our journey Colette set a pace faster than any Kenyan in a marathon and was quite a distance ahead of us. So much so that it would make more sense for me to call to her on a cell phone rather than disturb the other tourist with my hollerin'. I followed, frequently looking back to insure that Evan hadn't collapsed on a bench next to Bummy McNopants. I had given him a map of the mall to distract him from the torture of his calf muscles, but now he was trying to find himself on the map using a public restroom as his reference point.

We finally made it to the WWII Memorial which consists of a column for every state surrounding a shallow pool. Many people were soaking their feet, and Evan asked to do the same. Though the only thing either of us said out low was, "Well, uhhhhh," both Colette and I were debating whether is was disrespectful to soak your feet in a memorial honoring fallen soldiers. Is it acceptable or would it be like roasting marshmallows over the eternal flame at Kennedy's grave?

"Mmmmmmmmm S'mores"

They had died preserving our freedom, but Evan was working our nerves. Eventually, we decided that the soldiers would understand.

Just like a day at the beach.

I was soon ready to go. We were close to the Washington Monument, and I had still not see the free t-shirts. We could contemplate freedom later, now we needed to concentrate on free-shirts.

Mall Rats- The Longest Day of Vacation (Part 2: Free T-Shirts)

"Myyyyyyyy leeeeeegs huuuuuurt," Evan's vowels exploded all over the sidewalk. He sounded more like a howler monkey warning us about a nearby harpy eagle or jaguar than an eight-year-old asked to walk to the Lincoln Memorial. We encouraged, begged, implored and demanded that he catch up. This merely succeed in embarrassing and annoying him. I was walking a few paces ahead of Colette and Evan when in a fit of pique Evan ran up and struck Colette in the behind. I am not sure what he hoped to accomplish with this act of rebellion, but what he got was obviously not it. Reflexively Colette reached back to defend her posterior and made contact with Evan's bass drum abdomen causing a hollow thump to reverberate across the Potomac.

It sounded much worse than it was, but did little to improve diplomatic relations. An entire page of the scrapbook is devoted to "grumpy bridge."

"You are going to be in this picture and like it. Now come on."

"Huunhh I'm going stay on this bench forever."

I do want to make a quick detour into a discussion about the conservation of energy. As you can see above, benches were spaced evenly across the bridge, and Evan conceived a brilliant plan. He started running to the benches to sit and wait for us. Technically it is the same amount of work using Newtonian physics, but Evan is more of quantum guy. In Evan's conception of the universe the rest given to his legs is cumulative. So is it better to turtle or rabbit? Aesop would have you know that slow and steady wins the race, but which style results in less strain on the calves and blisters on the feet.

Philosophical conundrums aside, complaints continued to dive-bomb our ears like the unidentifiable black flying bugs that infest the mall. Extensive research, and by extensive I mean I googled it for a minute, reveals that they may be Cicada Killer Wasps. I'm not buying it since one of them flew into my eye. Evan insisted that they were bees and ran away from them like they were cans and he was The Jerk. If only we could have run from his complaints. As we reach the bottom of the stair to the Lincoln Memorial, they reached a crescendo.

Fortunately we were able to appeal to Evan's love of the Great Emancipator to drag himself up the 57 steps to view the Daniel Chester French sculpture. We took some pics, read Lincoln's words and visited the gift closet. We eventually headed back down to what I assumed was lunch.

"Four weeks and seven hours ago our Evan beheld his hero."

However, the nature of the National Mall is that everything is just a few steps away, and in this case it was the Vietnam War Memorial. At this time I also started to notice other tourists toting bundles of t-shirts. I have developed over the years a keen sense for free give-aways and these shirts had all of the tell-tale signs, but mainly it was the fact that people were carrying piles shirts on their shoulders. This of course set off a mild panic. What if all of the shirts were gone before I could ascertain their source. I had to find out where to acquire the gratuitous garments, the complimentary clothing, the no-cost smock. A free shirt could easily assuage some of Evan's "can I have this" tendencies and perhaps soothe his aching legs such is the curative powers of schwag. But first lunch, I mean but first the Vietnam War Memorial and a comedy of communication with Colette's parents.

Mall Rats - The Longest Day of Vacation (Part 1)

For the benefit of the readers this next essay will be broken into chapters. What follows is part 1 of an interminable series of events culminating in 4th of July fireworks on the National Mall.

"My legs hurt. I can't go on," exclaimed the pathetic little voice clung to my back slowing our progress. Evan had collapsed on a bench incapable of, or at least unwilling to move.

Ironically we hoofed it more in our five days in the nation's capitol than we did in our two weeks in Colorado and Utah. Perhaps the density of hiking and severity of foot boo-boos just made it seem as if that was the case. Evan's sandals had rubbed an eraser size red spot on the back of his foot. However, the howling for a band-aid would have led any casual observer to believe that we were the meanest parents on the face of the planet. They would have been certain of it after Evan's proclamation at  Lincoln Memorial. A passing priest immediately began performing an exorcism. Clara Barton rose from the dead to attend to the battle wound. A passing lawyer offered his card and told Evan he could sue for emotional distress. Former President Clinton jogged by and said, "I feel your pain." Even Colette and I began to empathize it had been a long day and we still had about nine hours until the fireworks.

Evan's Boo-Boo under only moderate magnification.

We had again bought a day pass for the Metro with the intention of hopping on the train periodically throughout the day. Unfortunately, this is not practical. By the time you walk to the train station you might as well have walked to your destination. We did make one transfer to the blue-line and arrived at Arlington station, our first stop of the day. Upon reaching the surface we asked a local family which way to go to get to the cemetery. Our main goal was to visit Arlington House, Robert E. Lee's residence before he became a traitor and current NPS site. We were pointed in the right direction but before we headed off she suggested that we take the walk across the Potomac to the Lincoln Memorial.

"It's just  lovely. It's a little hike but worth it, " she coerced.

Of course when on vacation you should always take the suggestions of locals. And if George Washington could through a silver dollar across the thing, then we could walk it.

Washington had one hell of an arm.

We walked to the cemetery visitor center and realized that Arlington House was at the top of a hill overlooking the cemetery. The entire property at one time belong to Lee. Built by his father-in-law George Washington Parke Custis, Lee and his wife Mary Custis lived there until Virginia's secession. Lee was often gone due to military obligations in the Mexican war, however he was in residence to deal with the estate after the death of his father-in-law, and thus was available to deal with the disturbance at Harper's Ferry and capture John Brown.

This of course was while he was a Colonel in the federal army. After succession and Lee's resignation the property was seized by federal troops under Brig. Gen. Irvin McDowell and several military  fortifications were built.


Later in order to prevent the Lee family from ever taking possession of the home againBrig. Gen. Montgomery C. Meigs appropriated the grounds for a cemetery. 

"If we can't kill his confederate ass at least we can haunt the heck out of it." ~Brig. Gen. Montgomery C. Meigs

We began the march up hill and it was evident that it would be a long day when Evan asked if there was going to be a shuttle. There was not. The path to the top is a who's who of dead people. We stopped at the eternal flame commemorating John F. Kennedy where it became evident that Evan was not in the mood to be respectful.

We continued on to Arlington house only to find that it is currently under renovation. You can still tour it and look at placards of what the rooms should look like, but the actual rooms had been stripped of any wallpaper, paint and furniture. Finishing the junior ranger book was a struggle. Evan couldn't sit still and the bugs were beginning to dine on our sweat salted shins. He did finally get his badge.

Pictured: The calm before the storm.

A glance at the map revealed that the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier sat just a short distance away. On the map it appeared to be less than an inch. The sight of the guard ameliorated Evan's disposition and the stairs offered a brief respite from our stroll as we watch the sentry.

The return trip though equidistant was significantly more pleasant owing to the fact that we were now going down hill, and soon we were at the bridge across the Potomac. Perhaps it was the humidity or maybe the warm front of over-stimulation colliding with a cold front of exhaustion that had moved in this morning formed the squall of foul temper in Evan. Whatever the meteorological explanation may be the thunderclap of attitude would flare up as we crossed the river.

Crazy Dinosaur Bones

Okay this isn't really a National Park, but it is on the National Mall so we are going to count it.

Crammed butt to belly with other patrons, I gazed upon the fossils of creatures extinct for nearly 250 million years at the Smithsonian Museum of Natural History. That was until I was reminded by a bit of overheard conversation that these were just plain old lizards that had lived long enough to get really, really big.

"What I want to know is were these things in the Garden of Eden," said Random Citizen #1.

This, of course pinged my sonar, blipped my radar, and snapped, crackled, and popped my Geiger counter. Red alert, all hands to battle stations we are on a collision course with crazy.

"What you have to remember is that reptiles never stop growing. These are just lizards that lived for a very long time and never stopped. That is why alligators get so big." Random Citizen #2 explained.

"Oh," replied #1.

"Adam I told you not to flush that thing down the toilet."

"Woman stop naggin' me and bring me some that knowledge fruit."

This must be true. Several people on yahoo answers said so. It actually involves some tricky Old Math. (As opposed to the New Math that Jesus taught to the money lenders in the temple.) If you take the same numbers that allow Noah to live to be, I don't know, like a 1000 years old, then you can easily see how Adam's pet iguana would eventually become an iguanadon. 

I began to wonder though, how does that explain the Giant Ground Sloth in the next room.

Off Screen Discussion: "You see it was right after 'Let There Be Light' or maybe later, I don't know, but God said unto the creatures great 'Let's Get Small.'"

God



Goin' On A Bear Hunt or What Am I, Stupid?

The look in her eye telegraphed a very clear message. There was no dots or dashes, interference or downed lines. It screamed, "What is that idiot doing?"

I know because I often shoot that same look at driver's that cut me off (Or the lady at Whitehaven that scraped the side of my car and then denied it happened. Luckily National Park Rangers came to our rescue again and convinced her that this is indeed what had happened.), the man at Quik Trip writing a check to buy a pack of cigarettes and a Pick 3, the guy running across the highway holding up his pants, and anyone that voluntarily jumps from high places.

Most recently that same look came to my face when she had come to a stop in the middle of  Skyline Drive in Shenandoah National Park. As power vacationers (20 National Parks, 4 major museums, fireworks on the National Mall, a Washington Nationals baseball game, and pool time at the hotel) once the wheels start rolling we do not have time for construction, RVs going up hill or random stops on scenic drives with no pull-out.

We might occasionally stop for this.

We had just finished a ranger program about bears and filling out the Jr. Ranger booklet. Rain had been falling periodically throughout the morning, and fog moved in, not on little cat feet, but more like a sentient energy alien on Star Trek. (Suck it Carl Sandburg.) By the time this random traffic stop occurred the rain had ended and the clouds were nestled in the bosom of the Blue Ridge Mountains creating alternating bands of dark forest (I considered using the word corbeau, a Frenchy word meaning blackish-green.) layered with streaks of clouds creating the soft blue that is the range's namesake. A beautiful day, but one that still held the promise of a thirteen hour drive back home to St. Louis, so I was just a tad irritated that we had stopped, not at a scenic overlook, but a portion of the road that was forested on both sides. That was until . . .

"Bear"

"Where?"

"There"

A black bear stood watch at the side of the road. We were actually the third in a row of cars so it was probably 15-20 feet ahead of us. She eyed us for about 15 seconds and turned to go. That is when I saw movement up in the tree. My caveman see-what-I-can-hunt vision is always keenest in the car.

"There's babies in the tree," I squealed.

The second car in the parade pulled out and continued on its way so we inched closer. Colette spent several clicks of the shutter coming to the realization that the fraction of black  bear cub butt visible in the foliage to the naked eye was not so evident to the telephoto lens.

I'll give you a minute.

"Here, you try," she said thrusting the camera into my hand. Colette often does this assuming I am a Dumbledore level wizard

I was seated on the opposite side of the car so I determined that the best plan would be to exit the vehicle. In retrospect I am amazed that Colette, my usual source of reason and sanity, chose this moment to dry up and say nothing as I stepped onto the blacktop. Slowly opening the door and leaving it open so as to not startle the cubs, I crept around the front of our Ford Flex and trained the camera on the tree sheltering the diminutive ursine.

I had time to adjust the lens and snap one picture (see above) of what turned out to be a bunch of leaves when I heard the snap of a branch. Years of movie watching had trained me to know that snapping branches are always harbingers of doom.

I glanced at the car in front of me and saw a woman's face framed in the side view mirror saying, "What is that idiot doing?"

The physics of light rays dictated that my eyes were visible to her and my Pokeman eyes of surprise could not have possible be bigger than they appeared.

Now the door that I had left open to avoid loud noises looked like a brilliant moment of foresight as I leaped back into the driver's seat. As I closed the door Mama Bear, minus the cute apron of fairy tales, bounded out of the tree line. She proceeded to cross the street looking back and imploring her cubs to follow.

 Just so we are clear, we have 30X optical on our camera.

I was so busy focusing the camera that I was only vaguely aware of the echoing noise emanating from the woods.

"What's that noise?" Colette asked.

"I don't know. I got to get this picture."

It was so unbearlike that my mind actually convinced me that it was a couple of hikers shouting at each other across a valley. Stirred from my photographic reverie I realized that I had heard the cry several times before as we had traipsed about the National Mall. If I had the Universal Translator App, I would have recognized Mama Bear's call and the cub's reply.

"Come on Dude. Catch up."

"I caaaaaan't"

Mama Bear was just worried about a little stranger danger and wanted to make sure that the cub looked both ways before he crossed the street.

Disneyburg

We had come to expect a certain subtlety from ranger stations and visitor centers. I like to think it is because of the well thought out plan to blend into the environment. They are always a welcome sight. Whether they use existing buildings like in Harper's Ferry or Cuyahoga, a low dark wooden structure blending into the forest as in Shenandoah, the barn like structure on the battlefield of Monocacy or the doorway into the hillside beneath the Frederick Douglas home, the rangers within have always been helpful.

The exception was Gettysburg. The monolith that rose before us seemed as out of place as those discovered by early man in 2002: A Space Odyssey and had nearly the same effect on our mood. The sign declaring a ban on backpacks was situated like a Wal-mart greeter at the start of the concrete path from the parking lot to the Cracker Barrel building perched at the end of a slight rise. So while I took our belongings to the car Colette and Evan went on in.

"I really wish I had a white slat-seat rocking chair instead of this concrete bench"

Colette confronted me when I walked in after placing our bags in the car and tells me to deal with the tickets. It is then that I realize that the massive room is dominated by a ticket counter protected by a labyrinth of retractable nylon straps extending so far from the cashiers that I was sure that my 20/20 vision had failed me.

You should know that Colette and I often play the "Craigslist Game" in which she flashes a picture of some piece-of-crap Spanish influenced sofa or an onyx figurine and I have to guess the price. I know she wouldn't show it to me unless the price was extravagant, but I invariably guess over a hundred dollars below the asking price. From the tone of her voice I could tell that I was going to lose the game again. When I saw the prices for the museum, movie, bus tour and something called a Cyclorama, I just assumed I saw it wrong, but no, in order to enjoy any one of the activities offered I would have to pitchfork over $100.00.

House payment, $700 early 90's entertainment center, hmm I just don't know."

The only thing comparable is the ride to the top of the Arch, which our family has never done. The NPS often partners with other agencies. In the case of the ride in the Arch it is Metro, the public transportation system in St. Louis. And in the case of Gettysburg it is the Gettysburg Foundation whose objective it is:

• To preserve, honor and protect the natural and cultural resources associated with the Gettysburg National Military Park, the Gettysburg Campaign, and the Eisenhower National Historic Site.
• To excite visitors about the past, inspire them to want to learn more about the events that have shaped America and prepare them to become better citizens.
• To make sure that lower middle class families can't learn anything. (This last one is kind of implied.)
• To provide the world with a Cyclorama (Big Picture - Wikipedia) of Pickett's Charge.

We did manage to finally find the park rangers tucked away in the corner. We signed Evan up to be enlisted in the UNION army primarily because it was a requirement for the junior ranger badge.

This is not the first time Evan has enlisted in the UNION army. He marched and drilled at Whitehaven for Junior Ranger Day, came under fire at a Civil War reenactment in Mississippi, and shot a musket at the Battle of Booneville. He has visited battlefields at Shiloh, Vicksburg, Wilson's Creek, Pea Ridge, Antietam, Manassas, and Monocacy. If it wasn't for his tendency to confuse The Clone Wars with The Civil War, I would say he was, for an eight-year-old, and expert. (General Grant's brilliant victory at Geonosis is legendary.)

At least we had found the rangers, a respite from the tour-bus friendly commercial cavalcade of cyclorama. At every other battlefield or national park there has always been a free film or a fiber optic map detailing troop movements. Now all we had was a ranger program and the $30.00 driving tour CDROM we purchased at the gift store. Before I go on I should mention that if you ever encounter the TravelBrains CDROMs at any of our national battlefields, you should buy it.

So the enlistment starts with the basic physical requirements. If there is a Civil War school, then there must be an entire class devoted to the delivery of the two-teeth joke. Basically the only requirement for a Civil War soldier is that they have two teeth, one top and one bottom. Though it is never mentioned, these two also need to be within close proximity. Without this rather mundane physical attribute soldiers would not be able to tear open the paper cartridge and load their muskets.

Next came a question and answer session. Evan excitedly announces his favorite fact about bayonets, that they are frequently planted in the ground and used as candle holders. The topic soon turned to food. Since Colette and I are both teachers it was intuitively obvious that the ranger was trying to steer the musket volley of responses so that she could talk about hard tack. (Apparently it is hard.)

Unfortunately, before she could order a cease fire, Evan said, "Goober peas!"

The ranger looked confused, stunned, and to be honest a little shell-shocked.

The pause in the presentation was long than Sarah Palin trying to answer a policy question. I wasn't sure what was going on. Burl Ives had consistently informed us that the Georgia Militia enjoyed, "peas, peas, peas, peas, eating goober peas."

Along with "The Battle of New Orleans," "Goober Peas" is Evan's favorite song on our ipod. I doubt, however, that the ranger had the same play list so she asked Evan to repeat his answer. Still stunned, she then said, "no," and rephrased the question.

"Did the soldiers eat pizza and nachos and stuff?"

It is at this point that Colette and I diverge in our analysis of the situation. Colette insists that the young lady mistakenly thought that Evan had said pizza.

I had a hard time ascribing that level of ignorance to a human being and assumed that the near homophones of "peas" and "pizza" were a coincidence. However, as of this writing I am beginning to doubt myself.

The presentation continued running the new recruits through drills until a cry of charge. Quite to the ranger's surprise, many of the soldiers, including Evan, charged into the head high weeds. Upon returning to the ranks, Evan followed the ranger around assisting that the weeds would have been good cover.

"Come on boys I smell a double pepperoni."

Colette and i had quietly decided that we would talk to the ranger to let her know about goober peas. Historical accuracy is extremely important in our family. I was still making excuses for her. Maybe since we enlisted in the Union (our army of choice) and boiled peanuts were more a staple of the rebels, she was trying to be hyper-accurate as well. Unfortunately, this was not the case. We explained it to her as Evan sang the tune in the background.

She responded nicely enough, "I'm always glad to learn something new."

Colette has since decided that she will only listen to over-weight, gray-bearded guys when it comes to the Civil War. I understand because these are the same guys I look for in the hardware store. Rangers and hardware-store-guys should be teaching me something new and not the other way around.

At least we had the well-reviewed TravelBrains CD. It did an excellent job of creating the action, a cyclorama if you will, at the various locations along the driving tour. Though I should mention that they gave General Grant a fictitious middle name to go with the "S". This phantom initial came about because of a clerical error and stuck with Grant standing for everything from Uncle Sam to Unconditional Surrender.

In another dubious comment Abner Doubleday is referred to as the "legendary creator of baseball." The may or may not be yet another error. It depends on the conotation of legendary. If by legendary the narrator means a fictitious story unsubstantiated by historical data, then he was correct. If, however, legendary means famous, then this would be another error. I'm always willing to give them the benfit of the doubt.