Kamikaze Museum Visiting, Part Three, and a Game of Musical Cars

Dear Imaginary Friends,

What is more physically bracing than trying to get a parking spot in Washington, DC, during cherry blossom time? It turns out, nothing!! Good heavens, I pulled up to a spot where parking is officially allowed, starting at 10 am. It was 9:57 am, and the policeman and policewoman were shooing me away, while holding ticket books to write me a ticket! It was like a crazed game of musical chairs. If you happened to be adjacent to a free parking spot when the clock hit ten, you were magic! Unfortunately for the culturally inclined, going to museums here is a total headache: Joan and I were out of luck. When the music stopped, we were on 12th Street, far away from the coveted spots. School children were swarming the sidewalks and streets and the chilly  drizzle did not keep any cherry blossom gawkers at home.

At last we finally found a meter. The meters have gone digital, like the rest of the world, and did not accept quarters.  A meter that hates coins? This is pure blasphemy, and shakes me to my core, after years of feeding the hungry maws of meters in every city I have visited, from Miami Beach to New York. What a travesty. The newfangled meters require plastic credit cards. Soon, they will require one to wave a smart phone over them, instead. What is the world coming to?

In the Museum of American History today, Dorothy's ruby slippers!

On to the more interesting purpose of our visit: the Museum of Natural History and the Museum of American History.

Right now, Natural History has exotic orchids on display -- every kind of orchid, and in such abundance. After ogling the orchids, Joan (my partner in crime) and I trekked on upstairs to see the Hope Diamond, Marie Antoinette's ginormous diamond earrings, and the emerald of the grand poobah, etc., etc.

For some reason, the DC museums are very fond of closing the most popular exhibits for two years at a stretch, and it had been so long since I had visited these two museums, that I felt that I should clamber over all the pint size school children, and through the sullen teens with sharp elbows and miserably large backpacks, which fill the rooms.

We raced -- against the time of the meter's inevitable demise -- through the rain to see American History next. What do they have there? I am so glad that you asked!!! They have the Star Spangled Banner, which is full of holes. They have Julia Child's Kitchen from the sixties. They have Grover and the Archie Bunker chair, and the Fonzie's leather jacket, and then the First ladies' dresses, which are rather splendiferous. Mary Todd Lincoln, you little minx! You must have had a waistline of 18 inches, tops.

There were black and white Richard Avedon photos of the young Kennedy children being cuddled by their parents. Best of all? Dorothy's Ruby Slippers from the Wizard of Oz. Sparkly, tacky, yet beautiful!

Next, a race back to the car and a drive through the cherry blossoms, choked with tourists. Rain, shmain. Nothing keeps the tourists away from the spectacular blooms.

I was so pooped out from the morning that I missed my turn to head south and went north.  So I accidentally on purpose drove up to the Italian Store off Spout Run, where I was naturally inclined to order a Milano sub, a slice of their famous pizza and a chocolate cannoli. I figure that was where my car wanted to go! Why else would Joan and I have missed our turn, right?
Then finally, Joan and I clicked our heels together, headed back south, and repeated three times: There is No Place Like Home!
Your Imaginary Friend,

Patsie