My wife’s enthusiasms not (necessarily) contagious
Yesterday the two of us tromped all over the DC Mall, from McPherson Square Metro to the July 4th P-rade along Constitution, to the folk festival on the Mall, extending from Smithsonian Station to the Capital Building. Then after a “break” for work and a nap, back on the Metro that evening to Capital South and the concert at the foot of the Capital Building and fireworks over the Washington Monument, then walked to Foggy Bottom, finding that every Metro station along the way was hopelessly backed up. We got back to the apartment at midnight, dragging, and this morning it felt like I’d been dropped from our 18th-floor apartment.
My wife’s enthusiasms for parades, festivals, jazzy/poppy concerts, and fireworks are not contagious, so it was with trepidation that I ventured out yesterday, but not overt resistance, because I love seeing her enthusiastic, and I know that she has trekked out with me plenty of times despite her inclinations to do something else.
After getting off at McPherson Square in the morning, we walked through Lafayette Park, around the White House, and found a nice spot towards the end of the parade route, near the corner of Constitution and 15th. The Washington July 4 parade is remarkably small-town, and when I realized that I was watching a small-town parade in the nation’s capital, my mild chagrin turned to appreciation. I could have been watching the July 4th parade on main street in Glendora back in the 60’s. I so loved the reenactment of the raising of the flag at Iwo Jima by a band of not-so-prime-time, but nonetheless proud veterans on the back of a flat-bed truck. I didn’t tear up then, but I am now.
The folk festival was dominated by a huge Welsh presence — Welsh music, Welsh story-telling, Welsh food, craftmanship of numerous forms — slate and stone, fabric, … Its actually a 10-day festival, and July 4 was the second to last day. After a late lunch at my favorite eatery on the Mall — the cafeteria at the National Gallery of Art — we returned to the Festival. A Hare Krishna contingent was second in size to the Welsh, their tents occupying the upper part of the Mall nearest the Capital Building, with their crafts, foods, philosophies on display, with other Eastern-influenced traditions. At the Hare Krishna “Questions and Answers” tent, Patricia and I stopped to listen to a fundamentalist Christian “argue” with the Krishnas — “You’re going to Hell!”, “Well, if it doesn’t include you, that’ll be fine!” There was something about it .. I didn’t find it disturbing.
It was an incredibly perfect day for July 4 — almost cool. We watched and listened to a performance of four young men, rapping under the tent on the role of spoken word in African-American culture. They spoke of hip hop culture, Martin Luther King, President Obama, suicide, prejudice, justice, the worth of men and women in the black Christian tradition, …. It was a large, racially mixed crowd … an older white couple …. about our age (good grief) … sat in front of us, and kept looking at each other, nodding.
It was a short walk to the Welsh music tent, and we stood there a while, listening to the reels, before committing to seats, and listened to the four-man band, the corny but likable front man, and watching the dancers of all types, couples and soloists, do their thing on the large wooden dance floor under the big tent — I thought of friend, Wendy, and her Celtic dancing, and Franko too, and their music.
That night, we got off at Capital South, and went to the far side of the Capital — I was really surprised at the access we had. We went through a security checkpoint, and Patricia tried to navigate us up towards the Capital Building, where she thought viewing would be best, but a police officer directed the incoming crowd to “go down to the bottom of the hill, there is no seating up here”, Pat tried to navigate around the officer, but was blocked by another, who directed her personnally “Ma’am, down the hill please.” She turned, and I followed, but within a few steps, Pat saw a cubbyhole, quite amazing actually, and we darted into it, for as good as a spot as we were going to get for having come in after the concert had started. We arrived just in time to hear Jimmy Smits announce Aretha Franklin, and the crowd rose as one. Aretha isn’t twenty any more, but Aretha is Aretha, and it was a girating couple of songs. We could see her on a big screen in the distance, partially occluded by trees, and I spotted her person, a speck moving in the distance, and pointed her out to Patricia. We had a great view of the fireworks, which from our vantage point exploded at the tip of the Washington Monument.
On the walk home I reflected aloud on how tenacious Patricia had been at finding our spot and she talked about her family of ten: “We never challenged authority, but we never let it stop us.” 
)
I took 205 pictures yesterday — two seem worthy of posting.
And yesterday was my father’s birthday — born on the 4th of July — happy birthday, Smith! RIP