Rows and patterns: I headed to Arlington cemetery. I've always had a weird fascination with cemeteries. I think it comes from my family. On every trip we had always made it a priority to see the local cemeteries. For me it's the stories, the families. What did they mean? What were their dreams? Today's cemetery had symmetric rows that please your eye. But this was different. Each of these men was someone who had significantly stood up for liberty. Peace. Freedom. Something they believed in. Their stories were bold and passionate and these men laid with men like Kennedy, Robert e. lee, and many more.
Generational: the tour bus rattled on facts that these men did. I was captured by an old woman in her walker. Her gray hair swayed in the wind blowing her frail timed body. Along side her was a woman helping her up the cemetery hill to a tombstone. My head instantly created the story that it was her daughter. Taking her to see her loved one. The man who smiled at her, adored her, touched her in that small part of her lower back that makes any girl squirm. She was there to pay her tributes. Her daughter spent the day hearing of how they fell in love. How time flew by. How time was slow when he was out at war. Their wedding day. The day she way born. That day when she got the call that their memories together were over. I want to hear her story. I want those memories. I want that story.
Unknown: the tomb of the unknown soldier. It's a place where the guards seem to look like Floating soldiers. The walk back and forth beside the tomb, it seems to hover above the ground. I have to admit, I tried it. The ground they walk on has impressions from the decades of feet pacing and guarding these unknown men. These men were honored for defending what they believed in and never returning home.
Washingtons: their home is classy, warm, inviting, and looks as though the Washington's left for the weekend and left their home to thousands of house sitters who are strolling through. The leaves, the cows, the piglets. The piano. Their love story was beautiful and raw and his heart was selfless. Another story my heart is wrapped in.
Boots and bridge: I've always loved bridges. The way you feel so big on them as you tower over something majestic. For what is the point of the bridge? To get over something that you couldn't have otherwise done on your two feet, whether it's a river, building, ocean etc. you stand on top and you look below and it makes me feel like I'm a part of that crazy majestic thing for just a second. When you feel like you're finally getting through something and walking on that bridge. Dot forget to look down over that something majestic down below. It's good.
Iwo Jima: this impresses you. You've seen pictures of those men holding up that flag. It's immense and there are no words to describe.
Short: we ended up back at Murphy's with friends. I was wrapped up in march madness and keeping up with my bracket (not looking good). Snow flurries were beginning and one young man grabbed my arm. He said are you really sitting on les miserables? I think it's cute that you sit on a book to eat...after three comments, I am beginning to think east coast men have never seen a girl Of my stature.
This place has history, charm, speed, silence, class, culture, and is crisp. I see it in the people, weather, food, architecture , and those sailboats that line the bay.
G. Bliss
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