After taking care of some sustenance, we headed over to the National Archives... to wait in another line. For some reason none of the walks or waits in line seemed as torturous as I remember them being when Neil and I were in DC in 2010. Then it occurred to me. It was 95 degrees outside with humidity at 90% when we were here last. Every step felt like it would kill me. Every minute in a line sucked the very life out of me. I remember being willing to pay $50.00 for a bottle of cold water on that trip. This trip seemed like nothing. How people live and work in this city in the summer, I will never comprehend.
This was our opportunity to have a moment with the very sacred documents of the United States of America. I know we all picture Nicholas Cage in the movie National Treasure standing alone, staring down at The Declaration of Independence, plotting how he might kidnap it. But that is not how it goes in real life. In real life, you wait in a very long line of people. They allow about 100 people at a time into the rotunda where these significant documents are on display. Of course, the last 150 people are still lingering in the room. Everyone moves in a frenzied mass straight to the Constitution or the Declaration. My introverted self who longs for moments of solitude with such historical documents is slightly underwhelmed by these experiences.
I envision myself standing alone in the rotunda, looking down upon a piece of parchment that is nearly 250 years old. I bend over the glass and work to make out the faded signatures of all of my favorite founding fathers. Men whose lives I've studied. Men who have long since left this earth, but who laid a foundation for this great democracy. And here I lean over the very document they leaned over as they dipped their quill in ink and signed their names to something that was considered an act of treason at the time.
But that is not how it went. Instead, my short self stood on tip-toe behind a mob of about fifty very tall people with very large heads. After much waiting and much maneuvering of my body, I finally got close enough to the faded document to peer between two sets of shoulders and got a fairly decent 30 second look at the document. That was my poignant moment. Sigh. But I did get some one-on-one time with the lesser documents of our nation's history. Apparently nobody cares about the Bill of Rights or other such nonsense.
Once we were done at the Archives, Jonah was officially done with any and all things museum. But Sabrina was dying to see some sculpture. I told her that we should probably explore The National Gallery of Art. I think she was a little dubious. I told her that this museum is about as close as you get to the European art museums. Dad and Jonah left to do something non-museum while Spence, Sabrina, and I went to bathe in art.
This sculpture lover found herself in heaven, surrounded by angels of the marble and bronze variety.
Even I had forgotten how many of the greats sit in this museum. Spencer has a replica of this Renoir piece hanging in his bedroom. And there sat the original. Right here in America.
There were also pieces by Monet as well as Degas, right here on American soil.
Rodin? Yes, The Thinker sat right there at our very own Smithsonian pondering the meaning of life.
At one point, Sabrina stopped dead in her tracks.
"Mom, is that what I think it is?"
Indeed it was. Our favorite portrait of Marie Antoinette sits, not in Paris, but here in The National Gallery of Art.
It was a feast for the eyes. Unlike everywhere else we had been, this museum was not very busy at all. We could have our quiet moments with The Thinker, or the queen of the French Revolution, or the blind woman of Pompeii, and no one was competing for those moments. Sometimes it saddens me that there are so few people in our culture who appreciate the arts. But on this day, I was thrilled to know that the masses were at the Air and Space Museum while my children and I gazed upon these treasures at our leisure.
But the kids were getting tired.
"What?! We haven't even seen the Dutch or Italian painters! We can't stop now," I pleaded.
"Don't worry, Mom. We'll come back tomorrow," Sabrina said.
I knew we wouldn't. And we didn't. The one tragedy of this trip. Throughout this vacation, I ran circles around my teenagers, even with my chubby out-of-shape body and terrible feet. This couch-potato momma seems to find some hidden stamina when art or history is involved. When I can't normally get off the couch to do a load of laundry, I find myself wanting to walk to one more monument or stand in one more line for one more exhibit in places like DC. My feet must comply to my passions in such instances. My body must keep up with my mind in such places.
But I couldn't convince the kids. So we finished the night in the amazing rotunda.
The gorgeous statue of Hermes was just the icing on the cake for my two Greek Mythology buffs. We stopped in the mall to rest our feet and play with the squirrels, and figure out where Neil and Jonah were.
This is what Neil and Jonah did while we were arting.
We were tired. It was time to go home. We made this walk probably four to six times a day.
If you are going to stay anywhere for more than a day or two, I would recommend renting a vacation home every time. We have gone through homeaway, vrbo, and on this trip, airbnb, and have had a positive experience every time. There is something about living how the locals live, if only for a week, that just gives you the essence of the new place you are visiting. It literally starts to feel like home. This neighborhood became our neighborhood. We loved it!
This was our little house for the week. Oh, how we loved it!
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