argus @ acmeme

The blood cells of foreign policy

...are often the bodies of people.

John came home from Juarez late last night, so we were both home for the midweek miracle of the Federal holiday once called Armistice Day. I wanted to spend it in D.C., being a tourist, seeing all the exhibits I've been wanting to, and seeing the Vietnam Memorial for the first time.

Quite by coincidence and instinct, we built a lovely Vetran's day path that charmingly honored all that we're told to honor on this day. From the house of Woodrow Wilson we went to the National Archives, the Vietnam Memorial and the Franklin D. Roosevelt memorial, ending with a long dinner at Gadsby's Tavern, talking to a man who is sometimes James Madison.

Die Walkure was sold out in the $60 seats, which crushed our plans to finsh the day with John's parents at DAR Constitution Hall. Alas. Instead, we made reservations for four at Gadsby's Tavern in Alexandria, which we've been chattering about sampling.

After watching Futurama DVDs through the morning, we pried ourselves free to go downtown. We got to Constitution Avenue before lunch, but saw no parking near the Corcran, our first goal. (There's an exhibit on the Atom Bomb by Jim Sandborn, complete with replicated parts.)

No parking, so we trotted up to the Textile Museum on S Street. I saw a PBS spot on amazing quilts from some specific town in the South that has a tradition of the women creating mindblowing quilt art, and I think part of that collection is currently being shown. As we turned down the long lane to the museum, we were charmed by the various genteel embassies of Laos and Myanmar (Burma) built of old houses. Alas, we were again thwarted by fate. The Textile Museum was closed for Vetran's Day.

We strolled down the venerable street and almost the next building was the Woodrow Wilson House, which opened when we rang the doorbell! The greying National Trust guide told us today, of all days, they had to be open, since Wilson created Armistice Day. We put little poppies into our lapels and joined the tour of the house.

Wilson, of course, was an idealist, but wrung his hands and went to war. John told me he remembered a story that after Wilson's speech to Congress demanding that the US enter WWI, someone went to his chamber to congratulate Wilson on his rousing speech - and found him in tears.

After finishing his term after the devestating stroke, Wilson and his wife, Edith (nee Galt of Galt Jewlers in the DC area), moved to this house, and she preserved its Woodrow-era furnishings from when he died in 1924 till she willed the house to the National Trust in 1961. There are Kellogs boxes and baseball card games alongside the radio mic he first spoke into and the film projector with which they watched movies in the study. It was such a genteel and delicate preserve of this intellectual giant's life.

We went from there to take tea, ending up at the Teaism on 8th and D. For the record, their high tea is deplorable. They don't have any cream in the restaurant, just to sketch the tea disaster for you. :)

We realized that we were across from the National Archives, so we walked via the map of the Navy memorial to see the renovated rotunda . The place is fantastic! You can really lean over to get a deep peek at the Bill of Rights, everything is so spacious and ADA-accessible and all four pages of the Constitution are there. Wahoo! So we stared at and photographed the founding documents of our country.

Then we drove over to the Veitnam Memorial, where a poem was being read by a female vetran of Korea and Vietnam at the Women's Vietnam statue. We stayed a while by the shrine of meaning and ephemera that is the Vietnam Memorial. John heard a vet say to his friends, "I thought that night I should kill myself..." and I photoed the wreaths.

Then we walked past the Korean Memorial to the Franklin Roosevelt memorial. I had never been there, and I was stunned. First of all, it honors the Roosevelt that used a wheelchair by being very accessible, from Braille to ramps and more. It spans much ground with different sections for each term, that wind through large marble structures covered in Roosevelt quotes. The water crashes through in many fountains on the grounds, and the art of the monument speaks volumes. The quotes about war especially felt so important to remember now, while we're in the midst of this repulsively clumsy one.

"I have seen war. I have seen war on land and sea. I have seen blood running from the wounded. I have seen men coughing out their gassed lungs. I have seen the dead in the mud. I have seen cities destroyed... I have seen children starving. I have seen the agony of mothers and wives. I hate war. "(August 14, 1936)

We walked back as dark fell, past the Lincoln memorial, through the clusters of vets, and drove home past the World War II monument that is being built.

We then drove to Gadsby's Tavern for dinner with Shirley and Ron, and were talked with by a fantasic reenactor who also often fills in for James Madison down at Montpelier. (The restoration - or DuPont demolition - of that great house is very interesting!) Post-colonial banter of a most piquant sort commenced. I think the kind lutist propositioned me at several points, by I resisted his charms and remained with my fiance. I hope I have decided wisely.

All in all, I am thoughtful. War is never simple enough to be black-and-white, but history does offer counsel to us, and rewards only the loftiest ideals with anything but her dismissive shrug. The woman vetran reading at the Women's memorial said it best when she said we need a Peace Machine, that we can input any conflicts that could lead to war and see them resolved. For a little while, wars produced resolutions for peace, grand gestures attempting to unite us where war tries to divide. I am saddened that I see no such insight emerging from the conflict in which we now embroil ourselves. So many wise, humane responses are ignored, replaced instead by empty rhetoric and terribly real blood.

Posted by argus at November 12, 2003 02:26 AM