DC

I am sitting on the patio, in the back yard, with the great big elm tree, that’s friends with the cedar, who’s branches are reaching around as if to grace the cedar with a hug.

I am staring at the glass top table, holding the glass bottle, with the label reaching around, letting me know who the glass bottle is. Au Bon Climat, known to friends by the name of Rosemary, born earlier, ending her live growth in ninety-seven, allowing the flavor to expand upon the closing of the cork. A Pinot Noir, once residing in Talley Vineyard, in the Arroyo Grande Valley, has now been residing in the seven-thousand bottle capacity cellar of Mark, the husband of the cousin of my father, whom I just met yesterday. I just finished the glass, and, well, I don’t know what else to say. I am waiting for Mark to share with me the intricacies.

Today started with the spy museum, which we covertly escaped...followed by coffee and scones, and talk of family history, as that talk makes us understand each other better, and also ourselves. A decision, voted unanimously by all, that we would just go with the flow, sitting when necessary, breaking when wanted, walking a lot too. We started learning and remembering at the World War II memorial, which was grandiose and scattered with veterans, children, and the touristy type, followed by the World War I memorial, which was less grandiose, more and lovely, neglected and alone. We walked to Lincoln Memorial, passing by the Washington Monument, eventually revealing to us a different side in the surface of the reflecting pool. Next was another needed break, with sandwiches and pita chips and, of all things, gatorade. With more energy, and gumption to continue, we finished the day with the Vietnam wall, beginning at the start, ending in the middle, tears coming after seeing the faces of the last eighteen dead, on the last day of the war, so close to being safe, so far from home, so close to seeing the ones waiting for their homecoming, never to return. Finally, a taxi-cab, a ride home, to the chair, on the patio, next door to the residence of the Lebanese Ambassador, next to the coy fish pond, listening the the water trickle down the layers of rocks that have been stacked with purpose, covered in slimy moss.

I am really enjoying myself.