Tag: African American History

It’s been over a week since we returned home and I’m finally finding the time and energy to write my last entry for the epic ROAD TRIP.

If you missed the first three editions, you can find them here Calling All Boots  and here Two Days Before Dawn and here Alarm Bells

I’ll wait why you check them out ….

Hello again. So as you know, at last writing, we had arrived in DC and been greeted in the middle of the night by a fire alarm. Not fun. But we were determined that exhaustion would NOT get the best of us so after some breakfast and a lot of coffee we set out to enjoy our time in our nation’s capital. I must admit, enjoying DC did require a certain level of cognitive dissonance. Walking by the White House, knowing that man was inside, produced a visceral reaction of disgust.

Looking at the Capital immediately gave rise to anger. The complicity of some and the outright glee of others as they trample on democracy and decency is infuriating. But at the same time, I love visiting DC. As a historian it’s a treasure trove of wonderfulness! And I love what it should represent. Like I said, cognitive dissonance on overload.

So … anyway back to travel news. We did have a wonderful time.

 

We visited the National Gallery. There is so much to see including this giant typewriter erasure in the sculpture garden.

We spent a long day at the African American History Museum.

It is an absolute must-see. I especially wish the idiots responsible for flying this giant flag (seen on our return trip) would make the trip. Perhaps if they had a better understanding of history and its connection with the present they’d think again. (Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking on my part.)

Anyway, my descriptions couldn’t do the museum justice. So go, that’s my advice.

We also squeezed in a short visit to the American History Museum. It currently has a temporary exhibit on The Poor People’s Campaign of 1968. It was fascinating.

Plus I got to see a giant dollhouse. (I don’t like dolls but I LOVE dollhouses. Interesting.)

And I got schooled on proper work ethic by “Bill Jones.” (He was a work “expert” created by a 1920s (or was it 1930s?) PR firm.

And Mr. Peanut and his buds said “hello.”

On our last day, we visited The Art of Burning Man exhibit at the Renwick Smithsonian gallery. WOW! It was awesome. I knew almost nothing about Burning Man so it really enjoyed learning about it.

Here’s a MUCH smaller model of the Burning Man. (The real one is burned at the end of the event every year–thus “burning man.”)

And one of the many art installations that have become such a big part of the event.

The exhibit also reproduced the temple that is built every year. It’s also torched at the end of every event. It was a beautiful place for reflection and healing. (This photo doesn’t do it justice.)

We also ate a lot of great food and (oh happy day!!) got to see some friends that relocated to the DC area last year. But I won’t bore you with those details 😉

All in all, it was a fun trip.

But now comes the part of our story that gets a little bit sad. (Thanks for the perfect line Book of Mormon.) The return to the car!! And thus we enter A DAY OF DENIAL. Denial that 940 miles is too much to drive in one day. Denial that 16 hours is too long to sit in a Prius. Denial that coffee, pancakes, and hamburgers are not the perfect food for optimal health. Denial that too many podcasts in too few days can render them annoying. Denial that all music begins to grate on your last damn nerve after 12 hours. Denial that seeing another sunrise (and sunset!) does NOT make the drive any less painful. Denial.

 

But we made it. We left the Georgetown parking garage at 6:08AM and arrived home to our parking garage at 10:23PM. Did sleeping in my own bed make that sixteen hours of driving worth it? Damn skippy it did!!!

But we probably won’t embark on a road trip of this length again.

Next time it’ll be “Leaving on a Jet Plane.”

Thanks to FOWC and Putting My Feet in the Dirt and The Little Mermaid Travel Themed Tea Party

Plus a shout out to Lin Manuel Miranda and Hamilton. “The code word is ‘Rochambeau,’ dig me?” Because of that lyric I knew the answer to “who’s that guy?”