CHIHUAHUAS FOR CHANGE

Be sure to scroll down when you see this picture.

Magic Margot Shoebox is a collection point for all that I hold dear - and that's a lot. My recent inspiration is Don Floyd's new blog thecaptainandthomasine.

The original title of my blog "Chihuahuas for Change" popped into my head two years ago when I was looking for a place to "store" all the information I accumulated on Sarah Palin. I've since dumped that information as others have done a far better job researching and accumulating.


Life is about change and since I have darling Libby the chihuahua the title seems to still be fresh.

KINDNESS

One can pay back the loan of gold, but one dies forever in debt to those who are kind.

"Nullius in verba" Take no one's word for it.
Do your own research.

Success if going from one failure to the next with enthusiasm. Winston Churchill

tracking

Tracking

SHOEBOX


I told you this is a shoebox and we all know that we simply put stuff into a shoebox in no particular order. That's how things are going to appear here. When something whaps me over the head you will be the first to know.

Right now, I want to tell you about my favorite blog in the whole wide world - Margaret and Helen. Hope you go read their post called "I can see November" - while there note their statistics. A grandson set this site up and it's been around the world several times. Margaret and Helen have been friends for over sixty years and counting.

http://margaretandhelen.wordpress.com/

Don Floyd and I have been friends for more than thirty years and counting. We first became pen pals in the late 70's. We are cousins and share a passion for genealogy. My major project this year was helping Don get his book "The Captain and Thomasine" published. Will give you more details in later post.

MARGOT'S THOUGHTS OVER THE YEARS

65TH TRIP AROUND THE SUN

The days seem to spin around so fast that I find myself wondering where the time goes.  Its been a busy and happy year except for Mark being sent to Iraq. I was so angry to learn the news that I knew I had to do something physical so I tore into the closets.  Pulled everything out and reorganized.
In one week Page and the girls will be here for a month.  We have a busy schedule with activities for the girls.  Shannon is in stage camp at American Stage and Bridgie is doing art at the Art Center and Harbor Mice at the sailing center.

I started my year off with a surprise party at Bella Brava.  All of my friends came and the surprise of the evening was having coffee served from Martha Eugenie Devalcourt’s  sterling silver coffee pot.  Talk about surprises.  Steve bought it for me and how we found it is quite a topic for a future writing.

Steve’s 70th birthday was a giant party (not a surprise) at the St. Pete Yacht Club.  He introduced the GTX1 to everyone.  This is well-documented in pictures making a long description superfluous. The Chicago Woodrough’s came for the event and we took the children to Weeki Wakii Springs.  They loved it. Steve took a cross country drive in his GTX1 and made a second trip to Las Vegas to the SEMA show.

Late in November we left Miami on a three week cruise up the Amazon river to Manaus.  It was an experience of a life time and also is well documented with photographs.

We returned home just before Christmas and Page came with the girls for a three week visit.  Of course, we did the usual Build A Bear expedition to get a bear for Molly and new clothes for the older bears.

The end of February was the opening of the new wing of the Museum of Fine Arts.  By special request Mary and her father came for the event.  I spent the weekend teaching Mary the rudiments of sewing and bought her a small sewing machine.  The big surprise was Steve honoring me by arranging to have the grand staircase of the museum named in my honor.  This is perhaps the biggest surprise of my entire life.  It truly is one of the best gifts I can imagine.  It is now mid June of  a wonderful year.  Next year we are planning a cruise of the British Isles. And This Thanksgiving we are planning a family reunion in beautiful Death Valley.

We have managed to have some interesting family reunions.  Last summer we were all at Spirit Lake with Harold and Joan McDermott.  The previous winter we took a family cruise to the Caribbean and the girls had a wonderful time. Of course, there was the family reunion to beat all – our trip to Italy for Shannon’s baptism.
In 2005 Steve and I took a Baltic Cruise and visited St. Petersburg Russia for three days. And, who can forget the cruise down the Nile in 2002?
I think that I am starting to see why time has flown.  We been rather busy.


THE END OF THE 20TH CENTURY – WOODROUGH STYLE


The Woodrough family celebrated the end of the 20th century in grand style  The party started with Thanksgiving and continued to the end of January, and was a time of looking forward as well as backward.

Thanksgiving day was spent at 503 Poinsettia Belleair Florida, the home of Margaret and Richard Fuselier.  It is a special place since it was once owned by Annette Kaplan then by her daughter Margaret Woodrough who renovated it and then sold it to the Fuseliers.  Dinner was like a family reunion since both Annette and Margot were invited along with dear friends and next door neighbors, Owen and Lyn Schlaug .  Just the week before Thanksgiving Margot and Steve traveled to Washington D.C. and while there made the rounds visiting all of the homes they owned in Northern Virginia before the move to Atlanta in 1973.  It was quite a trip and great fun to see how the homes had survived the thirty years. 

In addition Margot and Steve spent one spectacular Sunday exploring Georgetown, Margot’s father’s home.  First they attended Mass at Trinity Church where the Ogle and Vollmer family worshiped for many years.  Since it was a picture perfect fall day Margot and Steve “scuffed through the newly fallen bight leaves of Georgetown’s bumpy sidewalks and then to add the perfect touch they spent several hours in Dumbarton Oak’s gardens.  The weather was very mild for late November, the sun was brilliant and the gardens nicely uncrowned.  Since Dumbarton Oaks is one of Margot most favorite places, this was truly a special event. 

The Washington monument was still shrouded in the delightful scaffolding designed by Michael Graves, and at night it looked for all the world like a glowing Japanese lantern.

The Washington weekend was particularly special as Margot was able to spend two afternoons in the Library of Congress and while there found a publication written by Laurie J. Blakely which she copied.  Since family stories have always declared that Laurie Blakely’s works were lost in a fire at a publishing house, this was a particularly exciting find.  Naturally, she copied the entire book for her file.

After Thanksgiving a trip to Atlanta gave us time to help Steve and Elena decorate their Christmas tree then it was back to Florida for the beginning of a very busy holiday season.  On December 20th Annette, Jane, Laura , Steve and Margot took Jane Blakely to dinner to celebrate her 90th birthday.  Page and Mark arrived on Christmas Eve in time for dinner at Laura Glass’s home.  The whole family spent Christmas Day at 4801 Osprey Dr reading their letters to their grand children and exchanging gifts.  Two days after Christmas Steve and Margot had a party for the neighbors at their home, and just when that dust settled the McDermott family arrived from Iowa.

The Millennium celebration centered around St. Petersburg Florida’s “First Night” event.  Margot and Steve took their boat, “Motion Granted” to a marina within walking distance of St. Petersburg.  Mick and Joan McDermott, Matt and Mike McDermott joined Page, Mark, Steve and Margot for the evenings celebration that started with dinner at the “Ovo Café”.  The fireworks over the Vinoy Basin were spectacular and the evening was mild. 

All of the out of town guest left by January 4, and Steve took off for Missouri leaving Margot to “rest” for a week.  Then it started all over again.  Steve and Elena made their Christmas visit in January and it included a trip to Walt Disney’s Animal Kingdom where Margot and Steve purchased their wonderful water buffalo carving.  One day after Steve and Elena left Margot and Steve took off for San Juan Puerto Rica for two days before joining a cruise ship for a weeks tour of the eastern Caribbean.

The cruise was very special since Larry West (Steve’s roommate from law school) and his wife Susan were along.  The trip included Barbados, Antigua, Martinique, St. Lucia and St. Thomas.  We liked Barbados and Antigua best.  The trip home from San Juan through Atlanta was an adventure for the town was in the middle of an ice storm on the eve of the super bowl.  Margot and Steve might have been very luck to have been one of the last planes in and out that night before the airport was virtually closed down for weather. 

How lovely it is to be home at Dolphin Cay that certainly resembles a cruise ship that never leaves port.  We have decided that St. Petersburg Florida is the best Caribbean Island there is, and we are certainly looking forward to a lovely boring February.  Steve and Elena are moving to Chicago and Page and Mark to Germany, but that is their problem not our thank goodness.  Already we are planning an extended trip to Chicago in July and to Germany next summer. 

BUSH INAUGRAL JANUARY 20, 2001

Life is made up of strange twists and turns.  On December 18th I was in the hospital in St. Petersburg Florida about to undergo surgery for a Belgium accident of two days earlier.  One short month later I was on a plane to Washington DC to attend the inaugural of “Present-elect” Bush.  Truly modern medicine is wonderful for it had patched me back together in less time than it took to determine the outcome of the election of 2000!

My recovery was supported by many friends who generously contributed flowers, food, cards and physical assistance to my recovery.  Many of these same friends are Democrats, and it is to them that I dedicate this short description of the gala events that I attended in Washington.  First, let me say that Steve and I went to the inaugural from a sense of curiosity.  We sought a catharsis to remove the horrible memory of my accident as well as “closure” for the most bazaar presidential election of the twentieth century. 

We flew to Washington on Juary 18th through Winston Salem where our plane was twice delayed in take-off caused by air traffic back-up at National Airport (now named for Ronald Reagan).  When we finally landed we saw acres of tightly packed private jets huddled in the early gloom of a January evening.  Obviously, the Texans beat us to town in time for the opening ceremonies at the Lincoln Memorial scheduled for 6:00PM.  However, we were the beneficiaries of the festivities that shot a huge display of fireworks over the Potomac just as we crossed the river.  If we hadn’t known better we would have thought that the fireworks were a special welcome for us alone.  (There’s more rejoicing in heaven over the return of one lost sinner…)  could it be that the Republicans thought we had joined their fold and were celebrating? 

When Steve and I decided to attend the Inaugural we realized we would be like “whores in church”, and I realized that more than one glass of wine at any function might cause me to “blow our cover”.  Here we were the only two Democrats in town whose arrive was announced with fireworks!  Life is indeed strange.

The only Democrats in DC!!!!!!!!!!! incognito

Our hotel was located just steps from “The Hill” as the Capital building is affectionately known by insiders, and appropriately enough the hotel was named The George!  What wonderful irony was beginning to unfold?    The lobby of “The George” was clotted with good Republican ladies snuggled in their full length mink coats.  Over the beds in our room was a huge Andy Warholisque copy of two thirds of a dollar bill featuring the standard picture of George Washington upon which was superimposed a portrait of a younger George Washington.  The whole was done in lurid reds, greens, yellows and fuchsia.

First there was the sudden announcement of the Jesse Jackson “love child” and then the rains started.  At first the weeping was soft with just a tear or two running down the cheek of the windows.  By morning the whole of Washington was awash in a flood of tears that collected in cold dark puddles.  The sun stayed in bed the whole of Friday January 19th claiming  symptoms of general malaise and depression.  In order to preserve our Republican image we ordered Continental Breakfast in our room at the Republican price of $20.00 per person and dressed in our finest for the first official event which was a luncheon reception at the very prestigious Hay-Adams Hotel overlooking the White House.  The party was given by Phillip Morris in honor of congressman Roy Blount with no expense spared.  The entire rooftop of the Hotel had been enclosed with Plexiglass windows, satin tenting, huge bouquets of roses and patriotic blue paneling decorated with overlays of gold stars.  We ate their food, smoozed with the congressman and admired the view and left feeling sure that our performance as Republicans would certainly receive a nomination at Academy Award time.  The city continued to weep all afternoon and the Washington Monument hid its head in fog.

Steve made an attempt to attend the swearing in ceremony, but returned damp and cold to “the George” just in time to watch the ceremony on television.  Even the television cameras seemed to shed a few tears as they recorded the ceremony.  The day grew even more cold and dark as we left the hotel for the parade.  It took a bit of looking, pushing and shoving using Margot’s wheel chair as a battering ram, but eventually we got through the street protestors and into the warm confines of The Texas Cattleman’s Association office on Pennsylvania Avenue.  Once again we found ourselves locked in the embrace of Republicanism as we enjoyed the buffet lunch and front row parade seats offered by this lobbying group.   Everyone in the room was from Texas and spoke with the Texas twang we tried so hard to imitate in order to keep our cover.  The accent might have worked, but certainly our clothes gave us away for we were not wearing the huge silver jewelry inlaid with cabochons of turquoise that is so favored by the Texas natives.  Some wore belts that could never have allowed them to pass through a metal detector.  They alternated watching the parade out the window and watching the Clinton long goodbye on television.  They threw verbal epithets at the television and would have thrown tomatoes had there been any handy.  Steve and I were keenly aware at that moment that if they discovered that we were Democrats they could easily have turned their wrath to us.  Like Brer Rabbit “we lay low”.

Our vantage perch was directly above the protestors so that we had both views of the parade.  The weather became colder and wetter and still they carried their signs and marched back and forth. 

Inaugural evening was crowned by the balls.  The one we attended was decorated the way one would expect to find for homecoming at an affluent college.  Cavernous tents stretched from the building to the street in order to protect guests from the weather.  Inside the white tents were draped miles of “Smylax” vine to soften the edges.  The National Guard Armory building that is roughly the size of a football field was entirely carpeted in soft blue.  Drinks were a la carte after waiting in a long line.  The photographic line was longer still and seemed to be the main occupation for those who chose not to dance and in addition provided a perfect place to people watch.  Margot’s long gown hid her ankle cast but she certainly enjoyed the convenience of having a wheel chair for resting in a long line.

George and Laura arrived around 10:00 PM and danced a step or two before leaving.  We stayed until almost midnight, collected our commemorative gold embossed Champagne glasses and headed for the car.  The great torrents of tears were lessening and in fact had changed to soft sobs of snow as though the city itself sought to disappear. 

Sunday morning was a miracle.  At last the indefinite was over, the deed was done and with a sigh, Washington put on its brightest face and sought to smile its way to the future.  The sky was bright blue and every surface was covered in heavy white snow.  We must go on no matter what and we must put on the brightest possible face in order to do it.

In an act of Democratic charitableness we took our Republican friends on a whirlwind driving tour of the city.  First we visited Arlington Cemetery then down the Potomac to lunch just before Mount Vernon followed by a drive through the old city of Georgetown, past all the memorials and a final run up the Virginia side of the Potomac along the Mt Vernon Parkway to its end at the CIA complex.

Everyone knows the CIA is in Washington and everyone knows where it is, but it is so typical that the sign at the entrance reads “George Bush Center for Intelligence”  No kidding.  We tried to take a picture, but were seen by the guards who ran both drivers license and tag through their computer and told us that if we ever came back we would be arrested for trespassing.  Remember, you heard it here first, George Bush does have Intelligence and its hidden at the end of the George Washington Memorial Parkway in McLean Virginia.  Is this Washington’s best kept secret?

We returned to “The George” Hotel, slept peacefully beneath the Andy Wharolisque George Washington picture and departed from the Ronald Reagan airport eternally grateful that Clinton said he would be with us always!

June 5, 2008

While cleaning up my computer I found this piece, and since it is the historic day after Barack  Obama received enough votes to be the Democratic nominee I thought it appropriate to write the end of the story.

Surely Mother Nature could see what we only dreaded.  Indeed she wept bitterly on January 20th 2001.  Is it possible that the events of the past eight years can have been so bad?  Our suspicion of George Bush was more than confirmed.  We knew he was an idiot from the beginning, but put our hopes in his receiving guidance from Vice president Cheney.  How could we know that the Vice President would come to be called “Vice” and was truly just this side of a mad man.

The Bush presidency has been a complete disaster, more than can be told here.  I cannot recall a single thing that he did right.  Only last week his press secretary Scott Mc Clellen released a book detailing what we knew all along about the conditions in the White House.  In addition in 2004 John Dean wrote a book “Worse Than Watergate” again revealing all the awful occurrences during this president’s administration.

How can people fail to see the harm that has been done to our country?  The coming election will be between John McCain and Barack Obama.  We are hoping that Barack will give a lift to the country’s standing in the world and will be a tonic to start the healing of our nation.

We have been torn apart by people like Karl Rove who practice just this short of treason.  They get people all stirred up over gun control, a woman’s right to control her own body and gay people who want legal protection for their commitment.  All the time they ignore our economy, health care, the awful damage we have done in Iraq and our failure to resolve disputes with enemies before resorting to force.  Our environment is probably past the tipping point and our gasoline costs $4.50 a gallon.  Is it any wonder that Mother Nature wept so bitterly on January 20th 2001 and then hid herself beneath the blanket of snow?

I am now 66 years old and will probably survive just fine, but my heart aches for the tribulations that await my children and the 6.5 grandchildren.  What a dismal outlook for their futures.  Barack Obama is our only hope.  May Mother Nature smile on him.


February 12, 1999 CLINTON IMPEACHMENT DAY


The future will know the true meaning of this day with all its anomalies and allegories.  Steve and I flew to Washington this morning and landed at BWI airport under the most turbulent air conditions we’ve ever experienced.  The plane seemed to take an extraordinary time to find the airport and complete the descent.  During the entire time it shook, wavered and dipped.  Everyone was outwardly clam, but a huge unspoken sign of relief was palpable when the wheels finally rolled on the landing strip.  An otherwise smooth flight from Tampa concluded with a theme-park thrill ride. 

Approaching Washington from the Baltimore Washington Parkway flooded my senses with memories of how delightful it could be on a bright “spring-like” February day.  We rode with interesting folks among whom were the Peterman’s who announced that their son was a St. Petersburg city Council member.  They were coming from Ft. Lauderdale to Howard University probably for some sort of Black History event.  We chatted our way through the north east section of Washington past Howard University, Catholic University and the Shrine of the Immaculate Conception.  Between chats we listed on the radio to the two roll call votes for the impeachment of Bill Clinton.  Our driver seemed to have some sort of ‘bet” going on the vote’s outcome for he mentally kept score and verbalized his delight when several of the congressmen changed their vote.  The van reached the Peterman’s hotel just as the final tally was being taken on the first article of impeachment (the vote followed the cold reading of the charges against William Jefferson Clinton), and pulling under the portico caused static that blocked out the final announcement of the actual count.  Mr. Van Driver returned from helping the Peterman’s with their luggage to inquire about the final ‘score”, and was disappointed to learn that we had not heard it.  (Perhaps his rapt attention to the proceedings explain why he earlier failed to listen to the Peterman’s destination and took us first to Howard University rather than their hotel; but then this is Washington., D.C.)

The second roll call reached its conclusion at exactly the moment the van carrying Steve and me approached the northern most foot of Capitol Hill.  The surreality of the event and the moment will stay with us in the same way as the memory of where we were when we heard Kennedy had been shot.  I said to Steve, “Just think, we could walk right up there and be in the gallery for this very moment.” 

We turned right at the foot of Capitol Hill and followed Constitution Avenue toward the FDIC building just one block west of the White House.  Our route followed exactly the path of Inaugural Parades every four years and caused a vision of Hillary and Bill Clinton walking for a portion of their first parade six years ago to flash into my mind on this balmy bright February noontime.

The van driver dropped Steve off at the FDIC as the surreality of the day continued.  Suddenly I realized we were at a place that had changed so little since the first day he entered in 1964 as an FDIC employee.  Its been thirty five years, and our life story seemed sucked into this one tiny block of the universe.  As I watched Steve cross 17th street I remembered viewing the Fourth of July fireworks from the FDIC balcony, waiting in the car at 17th and New York to pick Steve up from work and watching the “stabile” art work displayed on the outside corner of the Corcoran Gallery of Art (in fact, I even sketched this “stabile” once during a wait, and later this weekend would discover it installed at the Hirshhorn Sculpture Museum).  The more things change the more they stay the same.

Washington is remarkably the same as it was when I was growing up.  Many buildings look better as a result of cleaning, and attention to making the public spaces friendly.  The Department of the Interior remains on the park filled with magnolia soulangiana, and I half thought I might see my father come out its north door as we pass it on our way to the Theodore Roosevelt Bridge going to Virginia.  From the bridge I see below us was the formerly serene “Roosevelt Island” formerly known as “Analostin” Island, and known even earlier as an assortment of other names by the various Indians and white settlers who once called the island home.  It remains a small oasis of some calm in a vibrating town, but is no longer an island.  The super-ugly Roosevelt Bridge lodged one of its supports right in the middle of the lovely natural swamp more than thirty years ago, and forever removed the unique tranquil sense of being on an exotic island that I remembered from childhood when getting to the island meant taking a boat or canoe.  Today the island is accessible by a footbridge on the western side allowing visitors to walk to the Theodore Roosevelt monument a forest of upright stele that replace the thick forest of trees.  Does anyone but me remember the place as it once was?  So recently it was a archetypical forest of large hardwood trees interspersed with vine entangled foundations of former dwellings that rose mysteriously from the shade like the ancient temples of the far east.   Once a visit to Roosevelt Island was like a trip to a foreign land.  The quiet amidst the city, the call of birds and rustle of leaves and sense of being alone were exceptional feelings.  No summer was complete without a walk on the paths followed by a picnic beside the water. 

Home for this “President’s Day” weekend was “The Virginian”  Now, there is a place full of memories!  It has been a hub of our lives for more than thirty-five years, and remains mostly unchanged, and is like coming home to Washington for it is so familiar.  There is an enormous sense of completeness in our being here at the beginning of the closing of the Garrett case, but that’s a story in itself.  Its only one in the afternoon but already a full lifetime has flashed in front of my eyes.  This is Abraham Lincoln’s Birthday now called “President’s Day and celebrated on February 15th  along with George Washington’s Birthday formerly known as February 22nd.  In times past both were separate Federal Holidays most welcome in a dreary month.  Now they are combined and have lost their flavor and become the generic “President’s Day”.  Today hearing the impeachment vote brings a whole new meaning to the very bland  and generic “President’s” day.  Clinton’s actions and predicament certainly put more “spice” into the day than anyone could possibly imagine.  What would we expect?  Its Washington!

My goal for the afternoon was the National Gallery of Art.  The day was warm and sunny, but nevertheless, I grabbed the umbrella I’d bought for four dollars last October at the Istanbul market and slung it over my shoulder.  Perhaps I wouldn’t need it for rain on this glorious day, but then again, if I needed a weapon to defend myself it might come in handy.  As I stood on the metro platform waiting for the train to downtown I heard very loud ranting and raving from a semi-street person, and nuzzled my “weapon” securely under my arm.  I still clutched it closely as I emerged into the bright sunlight of Independence Ave.  A mistake in choosing subway stations brought me up above ground right at the very old Smithsonian Institute Arts and Industry building once the home of the 1876 Centennial exhibit, and a short walk along and across the Mall toward the Capital and the Art Gallery.  This walk was meant to be.  The voting events of only two hours previous combined with the view of the Capitol in one direction and in the opposite direction, the Washington Monument in the traction of scaffolding brushed a sweep of history through my mind.  The whole of the American experience was present in one moment and I was swallowed up in the experience.  How fortunate I felt to have been born a Washingtonian and to have the experience of the city when it was my back yard.

The rotunda of the National Gallery of Art is one of the most stupendous places I’ve experienced.  It ranks right up there with the Parthenon – smaller, but in better condition.  To me it is second only to the main hall of the east building of the National Gallery  which is my favorite place on earth.  Suddenly I was in the midst of both on this incredible day.  The east building opened in 1978 just at the time my father died, and I remember coming to visit it as a break from his funeral weekend and all the necessary details of settling of his estate.  He died on June 14th.  The Sunday following his death we attended Mass at the Shrine of the Immaculate Conception then visited the National Gallery to see the Treasures of Dresden exhibit and have lunch in the wonderful upstairs restaurant.  The building has changed very little and I still enjoy its Zen-like serenity with the super enormous Calder mobile silently swimming in the air currents.  No cathedral or church has ever left me with the pure serenity that I feel in this building.  Is it the shape, the light, the art? 

Three hours passed in bliss until I surfaced at the coat check in the west building to find that the weather was half way through its 180 degree turn.  As Maureen Dowd says in her column we went from Midsummer’s Night Dream to King Lear in one afternoon.  Outside the fierce cold wind of a February front scoured the Mall that had only recently been a springtime park.  Rain came in horizontally in floods and cold buckets.  The weather was a mirror of the past year.  One moment things are well, and then they change and blow and turn cold.  I found a taxi to the FDIC and huddled on a bench in the lobby hoping to catch Steve as he left his meeting;  Another flashback to when the FDIC building was new and shiny and sophisticated.  Now it looks dowdy and neglected with a once shining floor dull and dusty.  A bored guard sits in the corner just past beeping security gates.  Is he here to fend off any malcontent banker who might storm in with a bomb to put the pace out of its misery?  The old glamor and majesty of the foyer has disappeared, and we are in just another government building.  I watch the employees leave the elevators on their way to the parking garage.  They are dull looking robots who plaintively cry out to one another “have a good weekend” as they slip away for the “President’s Day “ federal holiday. 

By and by a lady wearing a walking foot cast and casual clothes comes and escorts me to the third floor, and deposits me in a wing chair in the upper elevator lobby.  Perfect viewing from this position so I fade into the upholstery to watch different versions of the same dull people do their time until they can leave for the weekend.  These inmates serve a lifetime sentence here paying homage and offering sacrifice to the goddess “Regulation” with no knowledge of the outside world.  Not one of them has ever had to take a business risk or worry much about the consequence of their actions.  They minister to their goddess and play petty political charades and pass their lives in rapt contemplation of the rules.  I fully realize how fortunate Steve and I are to be on the other side now.  We escaped.  The trip “over the wall” produced scars and hurts, but we are truly free, and live a life full of fresh air.  We’ve succeeded on our own merits, and by our own will and intelligence.  Blessed is the fact that we can proclaim the cracks we see in the visage of  her majesty “Regulation”. 

The night is as raw, cold and windy as the day was sunny warm and balmy.  Like drowning city rats we scurry to the Farragut Square Metro Station right in the shadow of my childhood.  Only steps away was the Farragut Medical building, home of my childhood dentist, across the park from my optometrist where I spent hours waiting for the dilation drops in my eyes to take effect, and just down the block from Louis Hairstylist home of the $5.00 permanent, and only two blocks from 1710 H. St. former home of Travelers Insurance company and my very first job.  Washington is really a small town.  We are hungry, but the weather is too bad to search for a restaurant.  We are forced to take shelter in the train to Roslyn.  The best we can do is a Chinese restaurant at the Roslyn Metro station. 

What a day President’s Day February 12 1999 has been.  Born in sunny Florida, it became a toddler in a stormy airplane descent, then matured into a dream afternoon, and expired after a stormy joust with a cold front.  A day such as this is one to remember forever.  It was full of allegories of all descriptions, and I was so full of delight at our being a part of the city again.


A YEAR FOR THE RECORD BOOKS  1998

Monica who?  Just think, this time last year no one except a few friends, her parents and the President of the United States knew Monica Lewinski.  What a difference a year makes. In fact, things are going so thick and fast that even one day makes a big difference. Wednesday December 17, 1998 was such a day. In one twenty-four hour stretch the nature of the past year rotated 180 degrees.  At 5:15 we turned on the news to see how the House of Representatives hearing on the topic of impeachment were going and got a real surprise.  World events were deteriorating by the nanosecond.  I suppose even a nanosecond was a bit lengthy since events had taken a right angle turn and the picture on the screen was the eerily florescent green typical of a night vision camera.  Through the  phosphorescent green flew shooting stars of bombs.  “Holy smoke” I yelled, “We’re bombing Baghdad again”.  Its been that kind of year.

November of 1997 was the beginning of this incredible personal and public episode.  Mark was in Egypt when news came that things were not going well Iraq.  We all wished he would return home soon.  He did but the night he arrived back in Savannah Page called even as she could hear the planes coming in over her apartment at Mall Boulevard and started wondering if she should call off her engagement.  She had arrived at that time of “oh my gosh I’m really going to make a commitment”, and Mark’s imminent arrival created a personal deadline for her.  A secondary deadline was the knowledge that within two weeks they would join both sets of parents in Florida in an event that would really mark the beginning of their wedding plans.  It was a natural reaction that everyone feels on the threshold of a life-changing event.  She pulled herself together, went to meet him at the airport and one way or another resolved that they were meant to be.  Plans for a Thanksgiving family get together proceeded nicely, and the event was all it was meant to be.

Within three weeks of Thanksgiving both Mark and Page made the decision to find other homes for their dogs Rio and Elvis.  Dogs are like children and as much as one might wish to get rid of them, the actual act is wrenching.  Elvis went to the mid west and Rio traveled by plane to Tampa and a meeting with her new owners who have young children as well as a yard.  Tearful good-byes at the airport and then joyful reunion with grandmothers and parents and on to the cruise.

Christmas 1998 was a family reunion on the S.S. Veendam for a Caribbean Cruise.  December 18 was the big day, but before leaving for the port in Fort Lauderdale the group went to the photographer for a family portrait and to celebrate Gee Ma’s 88 birthday.  At the party everyone received holiday gift shirts of the “eight tiny reindeer’ as well as Santa, Mrs. Clause, Rudolph, the Grinch and our tiny elf, Mark. 

Annette, Page, Margot, Steve, Elena, Steve, Laurie, Jerry, Jane Ashton, Susie and Beth all traveled to Fort Lauderdale to meet Eric, and all thirteen boarded the ship for a week cruise into the Caribbean.   We ate, drank, talked, danced and explored.  Susie and Margot walked their legs off to get “punches” in their exercise cards and Page and Mark concentrated on earning “Veendam” coffee mugs.  Santa arrived by boat just off St. Johns in the Virgin Islands.  The trip was memorialized by a group shot in the grand staircase with everyone dressed in their reindeer shirts and antlers.  We returned spoiled, but knowing each other better.

The trip on the high seas cleared our thinking and by the time we returned it was clear that Page and Mark needed to change their wedding date.  (Having their wedding on June 20 would mean an unnecessary separation while Mark took his new assignment in Pittsburgh.)  We unpacked our bags from the cruise and immediately started making plans for an April wedding.  It took a number of phone calls and resulted in the loss of one bridesmaid and one groomsman (what luck – we’re still even), but April 18th was selected.  Now the real planning could begin.

Organizing the cruise for thirteen had been like moving troops overseas, but it was only a minor exercise compared with the “all out war” mode we went into planning for the wedding.  Suddenly everything was urgent with the dress being the only certainty since it had been selected right after the engagement was announced.  All else was to-be-done.  The wedding in combination with the resumption of Steve’s Missouri case meant we went into all out attack mode.  Page and I did some preliminary planning by phone, then scheduled face to face meetings with all the “vendors”.  We lost the Cathedral with the change of date and we got cold feet over having a reception in the park since it was an El Nino year and the weather super erratic.  In the midst of all the changes and planning Steve discovered that the selected church didn’t have an organ.  Well, --no daughter of his was going to get married without both an organ and a trumpet. We scratched that church and went on the hunt for a suitable edifice.  The new selection turned out to be perfection.  Not only was the church lovely, but full of Easter flowers the likes of which $5,000 couldn’t have purchased.

Not only was the church wonderful, but the organist was a wealth of contacts and information - a real pro - and with the help of organization, good luck and a cell phone Page and Margot arranged most of the details in one small weekend in January.  While Margot and Page were planning the perfect Savannah wedding Mark concentrated on selling his home.  Luckily it sold fast, but then everything including Page’s furniture had to go into storage while Mark went to Kansas for training.  (The furniture had its wedding before Page and Mark.)  Page was left with rather skimpy furnishings made up of a large popcorn can with a glass top for a table and one small lamp.  It was on this table that she addressed all two hundred and fifty invitations in perfect calligraphy. 

A train trip to Clearwater in February for a bridal shower added a party to a special weekend of planning the flowers and selecting the veil with her grandmother.  Gifts started to stack up in my foyer and everyday brought another pile of responses, and the need to shuffle people around at the reception tables.  Two of the nicest responses came from former neighbors.  We were thrilled that the Valentines and Bensons would be attending.  It certainly doesn’t seem possible that more than twenty years have elapsed during which time the “Trowbridge Trawlers” have all grown up. 

Margot and Steve had planned a trip to the Philadelphia Flower Show long before the wedding speedup up, and so right in the middle of wedding plans they took off for a week in Pennsylvania seeing glorious sites.  From Philadelphia Steve went directly to Missouri for another round of hearings, and did not return until two weeks before the wedding.  Time was getting shorter and shorter.

The wedding was perfection.  Everyone stayed at the De Soto Hilton.  We arrived five days early giving us time to meet and enjoy Mark’s family as they came into town.  We had several dinners together and walked around the lovely town for hours. April 18th was a perfect day and all of the plans pulled together beautifully.  Savannah is the most romantic city and the wedding with its military honor guard was a most romantic event.  Page and Mark left on Sunday morning, and we partied on going to Cleary’s for breakfast and revisiting all the “Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil” haunts including a trip to Bonaventure Cemetery for “cemetery dirt” to bring bad luck to the FDIC in their hearing against Glen Garrett.  On Monday following the wedding we delivered the presents to Page’s apartment and showered the empty place with confetti as we left.

In this year of party party we couldn’t leave July 4th untouched.  Susie, Beth, Page, Mark, Margot and Steve joined Eric in Boston for a real July 4th celebration.  There were two highlights.  First, the walk through the old cemetery (at dusk) where Samuel Adams is buried followed by fireworks on the Esplanade accompanied by The Boston Pops.  We used our cell phone to call all those who were not with us to let them know we were thinking about them..  We all decided that we simply had to return to Martha’s Vineyard again.

Our goodbyes were short lived as we knew we would meet again in Atlanta on July 25th for Elena and Steve’s wedding.  Margot and Steve were terribly relieved not to have the planning project for this event.  As Lyn Schlaug said, “Just show up, wear beige and keep your mouth shut.”   The wedding was lovely and we were so glad we had met many of Elena’s family at earlier events.  The day was perfect and the reception was delightful at Rivermont Country Club.  My best memory was the sight of Steve and Mark sitting on the sewer lid at 5690 Cannonero Dr. smoking cigars just at dusk following the reception while Elena packed to go on their honeymoon.  It brought back all kinds of memories of past years on Trowbridge Cove with the kids sitting on the sewer lid at dusk talking about life.

August was not a quiet month; just different.  We traveled to Ft. Lauderdale to the Community Bankers convention and to see the opening of Home Federal Bank, then returned to prepare for our Greek and Turkey Odyssey, but first there was a side trip on Labor Day to Pittsburgh to see Mark and Page’s new home.  Pittsburgh is a wonderful place.  Forget all the negative things Pittsburgh might bring to mind.  It is a perfectly charming town full of very intelligent looking people and beautiful neighborhoods.  The absolute highlight of the trip was an expedition to East Liverpool in search of the elusive James Blakely.  We stopped at the pottery museum and saw some Blakely items as well as learned the details of the old family story that began with “Blakely Looses Millions”. We walked the town, scouted out the old Blakely property, found the bridge, cemetery and yes, the hospital – all the players in the Blakely history.  Even met a Vodry descendant of a former Blakely partner.  What a thrill to be back in this place where so much family history occurred.  As an extra treat we went to the library in Pittsburgh and found revealing new family information in a random book that Margot picked up just on intuition. 

Back in Florida for a quick wash of clothes, trip to the bank and on September 25th headed to Atlanta for Robin Valentine’s wedding.  We left under evacuation orders as hurricane Georges was bearing down on Florida.  The neighbors all asked if we were evacuating and we said yes, - to Turkey.  Everyone thought that was a bit of an overdo, but given the kind of year its been not completely outrageous behavior.  There was just enough time for Margot to get sick with an infection in her thyroid that made her very tired and achy.  Somehow she squeezed in time to get to the doctor who determined there wasn’t a thing to do for it except take aspirin and the choice was either to stay home and be sick or go and be sick.  We went with a bushel basket of aspirin.

Robin Valentine’s wedding put a nice top on the “year of the wedding” and gave us a chance to reacquaint with the Moores and the Gunns.  There was even a photo opportunity for a regrouping of the “Trowbridge Trawlers”.  Page was there without Mark and slipped away to party with the old gang one more time.  What fun. 

September 28th was the beginning of the six week odyssey that took us to Turkey and Greece and we “left no stone unturned”.  We saw every important city in western Turkey and Attica Greece.  Steve kept copious diaries giving full details, and we recorded every step on video for posterity.  It was a large and wonderful trip, but we missed our home and started thinking fondly of it about half way through the expedition.  Once home we were amazed that the United States is such a lovely clean country and each day give thanks for the opportunity we have to be in St. Petersburg, Florida where things are practically perfect.

Mama is back using her computer.  She checks her stock account ever day and marvels at how rich she’s become.  Her days are full with playing Mahjong all night and watching impeachment hearings and bombings of Baghdad by day.  A phone call to her is certain to start her on those “damn Republicans”, but she won’t have Newt Gingrich to kick around anymore.  Miracle of miracles he resigned while she was on her trip to Greece. 

Today is December 17th and there are two more weeks to go in 1998.  One wonders what they will bring.  Iraq bombing continues, the Republicans continue to debate impeachment even while the bombs roar, the media continues to chew on the same old stories and the stock market continues to make everyone rich.  Where will it end?

December 20th is Jane Ashton’s 89th birthday and a dinner is planned for the Wine Cellar.  Susie and Beth arrive on the 22nd for Christmas and the group will see Beauty and the Beast on December 23rd.  Duff and Sharron are coming on January 6th (the one year anniversary of Monicagate) and we might just start planning a trip to Mexico to see them.  Can’t let those suitcases get mildewed in the closet.

Postscript written on April 18, 1999  Page and Mark’s first anniversary.  Things have continued to hum along at an even faster clip.  We took Gee Ma to dinner at the Wine Cellar and the service was horrible.  Mama said, “that’s what happens when you have full employment”, Bill Clinton was impeached and acquitted, Monica had her fifteen minutes of fame and wrote a book, Mark made Major, Page got a raise, the daffodils Page planted came up, the stock market passed 10,000, and we are now bombing Kosovo daily with lesser shots at Baghdad.  Steve settled the Missouri case and declared a win and got a great “report card” from the client.  Mama talks on the internet daily and has made a killing in the market and Steve and Margot are planning a trip to Iowa for the fourth of July.  All seems well in the family as the 20th century winds down.  We just hope Gee Ma doesn’t run her scooter off another curb and get killed.  If she does her death notice would say she died after being thrown from her horse.  John Blakely died Good Friday April 2, 1999.  The Washington Monument is swathed in scaffolding for repair.

January 1998 CUBA TRIP
Its been fourteen months since we went to Cuba.  I kept a notebook, but it is skimpy.  Before I put it away I am going to reconstruct our trip and our feelings.  Wish I had done it earlier because some impressions and emotions fade with time.  However, its an indication of the depth of feeling the trip aroused that causes so many memories to be with me still. 

First I remember that for weeks after I returned and sometimes even now when things are not going well, I remember the expression I made over and over on my return home: “I’ll never complain again.  I’ve been to Havana and seen people with nothing and yet them seem reasonably happy”.  Are they simply numb after all the years of deprivation?  I don’t think so; rather, I think it is an innate spirit.  Music is everywhere and a general air of contentment or is it resignation?  I don’t mean to say that there isn’t suffering for there obviously is a great deal.  The remarkable state is that somehow humans are able to adapt and even rise a bit above.

The most moving evidence of suffering is the willingness of women to prostitute themselves.  The second most obvious evidence of suffering is the total lack of upkeep for all the buildings and roads.  Havana demonstrates quite clearly the effect of no one pays taxes for forty years for even buildings and roofs built to last will eventually melt to nothing when basic upkeep is neglected.  All along the Malecon are fabulous homes weathering to dust.  Through wide open or non-existent doors I glimpsed hallways and interiors reveling the worse deterioration that I’ve ever seen.  Yet, people live here.  Look at the second floor and you see people, chickens and laundry on the balcony.  Do they have running water and a sewage system?  Who knows.  Coming upon these fabulous buildings with their unparalleled view of the water is a great surprise that makes one gasp.  What a place this must have been.  Perhaps that makes the present situation even more horrible.  This is not a backward third world country, but rather a highly civilized place with educated people living amidst rubble.  How do they do it.?

We left Isla Meujeures Mexico bound for Havana on a beautiful morning, but as we traveled the rolling of the water increased.  Losing site of land aroused emotions of unexpected uneasiness.  The mind starts to cook up scenes that flash from inconvenient trouble to life threatening disaster.  Gradually the realization dawns that this isn’t the Disney-safe inter coastal waterway on the west coast of Florida, but rather real life, and the phrase from the Navy Hymn “perils of the sea” becomes reality.  Who would come if we called on the radio?  Who would hear – that kind of thing?.  We traveled all day without seeing another boat or even a plane.  My mind rolled back and forth tossed by fantasies of trouble and yet soothed by the sight of the endless water and prospect of our destination. 

It was almost simultaneously that Al Krueger our engineer and Yergan the owner of “Explorer” noticed a “vibration” and slowed the engines.  Suddenly the comfort of the puffing engines was quieted bringing on a real sense of “aloneness”.  Al threw up came the interior hatches and descended into the engine room to inspect.  The boat rolled lazily with the waves.  Al declared he couldn’t find anything and the engines were revved up.  Same vibrations.  Now it was time for discussion.  What could it be (Al said it couldn’t be a prop or a shaft as all had been serviced recently.  And yet, there it was – a vibration at the half-way point of the trip.)  If the destination was anywhere but Cuba we would have continued on, but not knowing what type of service Cuba might offer, we turned back at 4:00 in the afternoon and slowly made our way back to the point of beginning.  A full day of traveling and were simply returning to port in Isla Mujares.  Just past midnight we backed into our slip and managed to waken most of the marina.  The process of backing evidently caused whatever had wrapped around the shaft to be dislodged and thrown off because the diver who went down in the morning found nothing.

Our second departure for Cuba was a bit later than the first since we stayed up talking to a neighbor from the marina.  Our late return brought him down to see what was wrong, and he accepted the offer of a drink, and one thing led to another until he told the tale of the pirates who attacked his sail boat while he was anchored off Guatemala.  Such hair raising stories full of blood and death are common in movies, but none of us had ever heard of a real attack.  He had escaped only by hacking the pirate to death with a machete.  Now our minds really had a fantasy to toss around as we set out on the high seas for a second try at reaching Havana

Today the seas are calm and the voyage smooth. – almost boring.  The engines drone all day and all night and we wake the next morning to see off the starboard the mountains of the west end of Cuba hazy in the distance.  All day we cruise along the north west coast never seeing a boat, plane or even a fish.  (Al had his lines out all day and caught nothing.)  We estimate that we will arrive in Havana late in the evening, and decide to call on the radio when we get closer.  The day is uneventful and pleasant interrupted by pleasant conversations and naps.  Night comes and we continue to push forward, and a new aloneness creeps back into our minds for we are about to enter Havana harbor and no one knows we are coming.  We do not have a detailed chart of the harbor, and it lacks the obvious red and green markers that serve as landmarks to a stranger.  Overlaying the whole is a sense of uneasiness about how our arrival will be received although we’d been told there would not be a problem.

When our instruments indicate we are near Havana Harbor we turn south and try to hail Marina Hemingway.  No answer.  We try again and this time are told to call back as we get closer.  (Well, at least they know we’re here and don’t seem intent on shooting us out of the sky.)  Except for the far away voice on the VHS radio there is no sign of life at all - not another boat of any description.  How strange not to see any fishermen out at night.  Slowly, we see a glow and then slowly it becomes individual lights along the shore.  What a feeling to see this place develop out of the darkness.  We get a sense of what Columbus must have felt when he visited the area five hundred years earlier.  There isn’t a clue about which direction to take, and its only after communication is established by radio that we are given dubious directions.  The Cubans patrol the harbor with radar and once they pick us up “talk us in” by saying “head for the white light.”   The whole shore line is white lights making its hard to pick our exactly the “white light” they have in mind.  (How dependent we have become on the lovely red and green channel markers at home.)

Jergan steers the boat and Steve, Al and I strain our eyes for the “white light” among many as well as keep a look out for any possible obstruction in the bay.  Slowly, we approach the shore guided by the Cuban with only the essentials of English, but none the less more than our knowledge of Spanish.  Bit by bit we steer and turn and chug along until we find the particular white light and head toward the immigration dock, a concrete sea wall topped by a wooden hut with a tall radio tower.  We tie up with the assistance of the many Cubans who come from the hut and from the picnic table beside it that is lit from a nearby street lamp.  All else is very dark.  The hut and table are the only island of light, and yet we know there is a marina nearby.  We are greeted like visiting royalty.  Music is playing on the radio and the officials are lingering in the very dark yard smoking and looking a lot like the officers in the first scene of Carmen.  (The ones who watch the people come and go and comment on how funny they are – drole de la gens que ce gens la.)  As we tie up the boat, Al and Jergan, who have declared their lack of concern, betray themselves by acting nervously cordial to the officers.  They seek solace from their anxiety smoking endless cigarettes, and  “Yes sirs” fly like moths under a light as the various officers approach and board for their turn of stamping and inspecting.

One cannot help but think that the immigration officer’s inspection is designed more to satisfy curiosity than to serve any particular official purpose.  (They greet gifts of liters of coke as though they were champagne.)  They are very cordial and sensitive to the fact that they shouldn’t stamp our passport and as I washed the third round of glasses in preparation for the serving of yet another round of soft drinks to the next clutch of officers, it occurs to me that our arrival has brightened a night that had been lit only by a couple of bare bulbs and a lot of nothingness.  We are objects of delight to them. Finally, after serving drinks to half the population Havana in the first hour off our arrival, we are issued our pink paper visa and told we are welcome to stay for ten days since there is a storm coming.  Its official we are welcome.  Jergan starts the engines and we find our way through the blackness to our berth for the night feeling just like we had landed on the moon and been greeted by friendly Martians.  Its midnight and two of us fall into bed exhausted. 

I awake in the middle of the night to find Yergan’s door closed and have the spooky feeling that he is not alone in his room.  It was eerie to think that within a couple of hours of our arrival he left the boat, found a girl and she was there amongst us.  Truly I am on another planet.  As I lie in my bunk only  a few feet away from Jurgan‘s door, I think about the girl and begin to contemplate what would make a creature follow a man home to his boat like this.  Eventually I fell back asleep very thankful I did not have to meet her face to face.

Dawn brought a different picture of Cuba.  It was grey and solemn and there were no cars.  Lots of people traveled up and down the marina street, but they were on bicycles not in cars.  “Explorer” lay alongside a concrete wharf just in front of a huge sailboat.  Electricity was the first task of the day.  Al and Yergan were both ‘testy”.  To celebrate our arrival they each had three shots each of Tequila to prime them for an evening of bar hopping.   During the evening Al had lost both his money trying to buy $30 worth of sandwiches in a bar.  We never did really know all the details, but somehow Jergan got back to the boat with Al and a girl.  (Guess Al was upset because he didn’t have a girl and lost his money).

Our eyes were barely open when someone knocked on the boat and offered to wash it.  Al was less than friendly to the offer since he was still sore over the previous night’s loss.  (He kept muttering about Yergan’s bad manners, but he simmered down when Yergan gave him $50.)  The boat washer came back to a better reception and made it plain with his limited English that he had a son who would like to be our guide and show us around.  We settle on a price and later the son Frederico arrived back at the boat with a driver and a car and we take off to see Havana, stopping along the way at Frederico’s house to let him get a clean shirt.





Going for the shirt allowed us a glimpse into a middle class lifestyle in the Havana suburb of Miramar.  It looked like rural Georgia of one hundred years ago.  Frederico’s home was on the water looking north across Havana Harbor.  In the U.S. this would be prime waterfront property worth hundreds of thousands of dollars.  We didn’t go into his home, but peaked in the door to see a pathetic dried up plant and worn linoleum.  Outside the wires were hung like wash lines criss-crossing the court yard.  The sides of the building were anything that would keep out rain including pieces of corrugated metal slipped into the siding where holes might have been.  There was a dirt court yard with one poor pathetic child’s truck stuck in the bare ground.   Frederico didn’t seem to mind that we saw the place, and probably he doesn’t even understand how wretched it looked to us.  I asked about an outbuilding I saw out toward the street covered with a palapa roof.  He said it used to be his restaurant until the government shut it down.  For the moment we didn’t understand the meaning of his remark, and thought if very strange that he should have a restaurant in his front yard.  After he was cleaned up with a fresh shirt we took off in the battered car with six of us crammed together.  The Windows were open and unclosable since the handle was missing.  Missing that is until the driver passed one handle back so we could adjust the window.  Guess he kept it in the glove box.

The main road from Marina Hemingway into Havana passes through the Miramar neighborhood skirting the former Soviet Embassy and arrives along the Malecon in downtown Havana. It is called 5th avenue.  The sights along the way are breathtaking.  First, there are the old cars.  Everywhere the cars are 1950 models.  They are all up and running full blast although obviously not everyone has a car.  Many people take a bicycle and many others hitch hike.  On reflection, probably the hitch hiker girls we saw were prostitutes although I took them for citizens just needing a way around.  Our first stop was an open-air market of artist selling their works.  Frederico and the diver accommodated us by stopping, but seemed nervous and wanted us to come along.  Quickly we purchased painting of a worker.  The artist come out of no where with the rolled up canvas that stilled smelled of paint.  He thrust it into Steve’s face.  Instantly, Steve called “Marg” and showed me the picture. Within seconds we purchased it for $40 and moved along.  It might just qualify as being the fastest art purchase in history, and it has become one of our treasures.  The style is rather cubist and seemed to express so much about what we were starting to see in the place.  We longed for time to shop for more.  Next stop was the Castillo del Morro and a start on our Cuban history lesson.  Both Steve and I arrived as blank slates needing to be imprinted with local history and lore.  By now the wind blew fiercely blowing form the south.  We are told that a “high south brings strong north” or in other words, a front was coming.  We climbed to the top of the fort for a view of Havana Harbor and the beginning of our realization of the continued importance of this land and city in history.  Looking back at the visit to the fort makes me think of a later trip to Nassau in the Bahamas where we found people quite accustomed to the tourist dollars and not the least afraid to demand money at every turn.  They are like trained seals who perform for a fish.  Here in Cuba there is a reticence.  I offer a dollar tip to a lovely gentleman who poses with me for a picture.  He is appreciative, but not demanding.  Perhaps the government makes him afraid to be too open about soliciting tips.  In time this will change and unless human nature is rewritten later tourist will find the same trained seals in Havana.  For now one has a feeling of genuine delight in being with people from the outside world. 





Next the jalopy takes us to the old town square where we park and walk through narrow streets full of incredibly picturesque buildings to the map vendor.  Yergan wants to buy navigation charts and we understand that it is only recently that such things can be purchased.  Previously they were guarded for security reasons.  We walk around the town a bit, and its obvious from the answers he gives to questions, that Frederico doesn’t know too much about the history of the place, but Steve and I are already enchanted with the town.  We meet our driver back at the park where he is lined up with all the other drivers. One gets the sense that they know one another.  We keep pausing to take pictures, but Frederico seems a bit nervous and hurries us on.

Dinner is planed to be at a private restaurant and we have invited Frederico and the driver to accompany us.  As we approach the car at 8:00 for our dinner plans we are stopped in the darkness of the marina and Frederico is taken off to speak privately to whomever had been watching us.  He returns to tells us he will take us to dinner, but must come back and talk to the person who was observing us and join us later for dinner.  The restaurant is in a neighborhood near his home and the streets are dark.  It is possible to see into the houses through open doors, but so easy for residents to see us.  We feel like intruders..  We park and approach a home and Frederico goes first knocks, inquires and returns to tell us to walk around the block.  Evidently the person at this restaurant did not have the lobster that we had told him we wanted.  We enter another restaurant and take our seat under a canvas tarp that had been strung between trees.  The garden is strung with Christmas lights and the scene is enchanting.  Behind a bush a man cooks on a barbecue.  At first it seems like a regular restaurant until gradually we realize we are in someone’s front yard and they are cooking on their barbecue.  The food is good, but selection is limited.  Later we learn about these private restaurants where food is purchased at the dollar store.  This food is not affordable in the pesos ordinary workers earn, but is available only for dollars and is resold for dollars in the front yard of a home.  We have a lovely meal marred only by Frederico’s failure to return promptly as promised. It’s a bit disquieting to realize we don’t know where we are and seem to have just lost both guide and driver. 

Eventually Frederico arrives in a shaken state of mind.  Evidently, his conversion with us on the boat during where Steve explained to him about our legal system and showed him his computer was observed and taken for mischief.  A cold shiver of apprehension and disbelief crosses us as suddenly we feel a very small taste of the kind of government under which these people live.  Frederico delivers us home and promises to return the next day for more sight seeing.  In twenty four hours we have been flooded with impressions and experiences.

Our second morning arrives with incredible surf crashing over the sea wall just across the gravel roadway on our port side.  The waves hit the sea wall and spew big clouds of water and mist straight up into the dull gray morning.  Frederico doesn’t come as scheduled so Steve and I walk around and examine the hotel near the marina.  The outside is dingy, but inside is quite nice. It’s a far cry from the Marina showers with their soap-stiff towels and on and off hot water.  We learn that the name of the hotel Is “Old Man and the Sea" and its guests are German and Canadians.  It is here that we find the only CNN television station

Finally giving up on Frederico we take a taxi to town.  This time we ride in style in a government taxi.  The price is higher $15.00, but it’s a Mercedes.  We are dropped at the same spot as yesterday and since we know the area we wander around enjoying the sites.  Lunch at La Mida is in a delightful court yard restaurant with peacock roosting on the second story ledge and chickens gathering scraps from the floor.  The music is grand and we eat (what else) a Cuban sandwich.  Since we only brought $500 cash with us we decide to be frugal and people watch in the park.  Our park is located just in front of old governor’s home and the portico of the mansion is full of book vendors.  One of them is particularly charming and wants to have a cup of coffee with us.  He sells me a book about the black history of  Cuba and says people call him Sammy Davis (and in fact that’s who he looks like.  All the time there is music playing in the background.  I go to watch and listen and for $5.00 buy a tape of the music.

As we sit in the park we are approached by a man who doesn’t speak much English, but nevertheless wants to talk, and insists on telling us that Castro should be  (and here he makes a slashing motion across his throat).  Steve is horrified and moves away.  I smile and hope this isn’t a set up to throw us in jail.  The man talks and talks and seems mostly to want us to take the message home that if the US would drop the embargo Castro would fall.  We hear this message over and over so much so that I decide to write the State Department when we get back home and express what I’ve heard..  After this encounter (and we never were completely sure of the man’s motive) we were approached by a gentleman who said he overheard us speaking English and wondered if we wanted a guide.  Both Steve and I were skeptical about his motives and yet at the same time he seemed to be trustworthy.  In fact, I had been taking pictures of the governor’s palace and had seen him through the viewer of the camera and included him in a shot because I thought he looked “intelligent”.

We were getting low on money and yet his fee was reasonable so we decided to blow $15.00 for three hours of touring the town.  What a tour it was!  We were with a walking encyclopedia of information.  Our brains couldn’t assimilate everything fast enough.  We walked up one street and down the other.  We were told the whole history of a most fascinating city.  Both Steve and I could hardly believe our luck.  When the day was over we took a taxi back to the boat and dropped Feilipe off on the way.  Evidently he does this every day in order to make ends meet.  He told us that in order to keep his family together he needed to earn $100. American dollars each month.  He has two boys and a wife who was Russian.  He is an engineer and spent some time in Russia in training.  He has no love for the Russians or for the system, and is not particularly guarded in his conversation about either.

We plan to meet the next afternoon at the same spot and invite Felipe for dinner with his wife.  By now we are starting to run short of money and need to call home which turns out to cost $40.00 cash.  We have dinner and try to charge on our Visa, but have it denied.  Visa from other countries is OK, but banks don’t honor American Visa.  This is an eye opening experience for us.  Dinner this evening is weird.  We share the meal with Al, Jergan, Frederico and the two girls.  Its was funny because I didn’t quite know what to say, and couldn’t have said anything anyway since neither girl spoke English and I do not have any Spanish.  By now the weather is getting dicey and one front after another comes down the straits of Florida.

I must note that I am resuming this in September of 1999.  I have made up my mind that today I will finish these notes.  In some ways this is good since I have the advantage of time and hindsight, and since I have notes and the aid of the video that Al made I probably have a good remembrance.  In addition, the New Your Times for Sunday August 8 carried a story that I saved and attached to my remembrances because it article so closely mirrored our experience.  No doubt one day Cuba will be just another tourist island in the Caribbean, and over time the memory of these more than forty years will grow dim.  For now though even in September of 1999 things have not changed at all.  The Miami Cubans still wield enormous power to keep Cuba even to the detriment of their own brothers.  Its curious how those who escaped and thrived can continue their vendetta over such a long period of time.

But, speaking of escaping, our escape from  Communism was “a real trip”.  After five days we were ready for home.  The weather office at the Marina was very vague about conditions and only open sporadically at that, but the weather seemed to have improved, and after all, how many fronts could fall down from the north in quick succession.  We decided to go based on timing and bright sunny conditions in Cuba.  An accurate weather report would have been a better indicator for action. 

We left the marina in bright, calm sunshine after making the obligatory stop at customs.  They checked to see if we were leaving with all the electronic equipment with which we arrived, and I certainly expected them to search for “stow-aways”, but they didn’t (Frankly, I wouldn’t have been too surprised to have seen at least one of the girls emerge from hiding either).  Departure was quiet heightened only by our crossing in front of a very large freighter.  I was topside when Ad decided to cross (why not go behind I’ll never know) and the crossing was close enough that I left my topside post so as not to have to see it.  After that we chugged right along for several hours as the seas increasingly swelled larger and larger.  Soon, the sight of the wall of water in front of the bow, and then the ride up and straight down the wave became completely unnerving.  I retired to the salon in order not to have to see.  I tried to sit then lie and it was impossible.  The boat rose and fell like an elevator.  If you were not braced against or under something you rose and fell with the boat.  I looked at the clock.  It was 3:00PM.  We would not finally get into Key West until midnight so there was nine hours of hell ahead.  Steve became sick.  I saw him go out on the stern and worried he would be swept overboard, but there was not a thing I could do except hope for the best.  Finally, I drug myself to the Galley surrounded by sofa cushions and wedged myself in.  It was the most secure I could feel.  I must have dozed some.  One of the most terrifying moments was when in the dark, I suddenly hear a tremendous roar of the engines and see a very bright light.  The hatch to the engine rooms was in the Galley and Al had lifted the door and gone down (how I don’t know) to inspect for something.  Not only was the noise overwhelming, but also the thought that something might be wrong with an engine was scary.  At this moment, I don’t recall why he checked the engines, but they continued to function and slowly we plodded along.  The incident though made me aware that the life jackets were all stored topside, and if we lost one engine we might be “broached”, something I learned about in Coast Guard school. 

Never have hours drug so slowly as they did that night.  The most incredibly thrilling sound was the throttling down of the engines, and the accompanying ability to hear voices from the cock pit.  We were approaching harbor and the seas were smoother.  I left my cubby hole to go to the engine room to see the lights of Key West on the horizon  We were saved!  It was rainy and cold (as it always is behind a cold front).  Slowly we pulled up to the dock.  We had n slip so we tied up at customs.  Al was angry that Yergan had only “guessed” at the weather.  I was thankful and mad at the same time.  I told Steve that in the morning I was leaving the boat and getting a rental car even if I had to buy it!  We crawled into our bunks for the last time.

Dawn was gray and solemn.  Al was mad at Yergan and I was mad at everyone for having put us through such a night.  Customs was slow, but didn’t seem to mind too much that we had come from Cuba.  Yergan was off doing paper work, and I announced that I was leaving immediately.  Al came with us leaving Yergan to deal with getting the boat back to Clearwater.

Never had home looked so good  What a wonderful place we live in.  Once we started to recover from the ordeal of the previous evening we started to think about all of the refugees who have crossed the same stretch of water in open rafts.  If we in our 45 foot yacht were in danger and uncomfortable, then what must have been the plight of the refugees?  Certainly, things at home would need to be terribly awful to prompt someone to make the voyage.  Ninety miles doesn’t sound like much unless conditions are horrible.  In the Florida Straits conditions are frequently horrible and without radar and communication there is really no reliable way to know what the crossing will bring in the way of opposition from mother nature.

Since our return, our hearts and minds have been with the Cuban people.  We wish there were a way to help, and in fact, I wrote a note to our friend Felipe just to say “hi” thinking that if he replied I would send him some cash with the next note.  My note was returned unopened nine months later.  I wonder what has happened with him?

Just after our return the US government tightened restrictions on travel so that a trip like our became almost impossible to duplicate.  Steve and I both agree that the experience was probably one of the most significant of our lives.  We far preferred Cuba to Costa Rica, and truly intend to return as soon as we can do so in a more “legal” way.  The country is incredibly rich in architecture and culture and the music is superb.  The people are delightful, and admirable in their long-suffering.  Perhaps when the next revolution happens (and it will) we will go back and write again of our experiences.  In the meantime we have a wonderful new daughter-in-law who is first generation American of Cuban ancestry.  We are forever connected to this lovely country.

I just looked over my notes and decided they are rich with detail.  I reproduce them here as an “appendix” to my story.

Ø Live off your stores – how you can exist in Cuba without spending money
Ø High South brings strong North (wind)
Ø Havana like Atlanta – center of commerce for world
Ø Police
Ø Firing of 23 at the Marina ???
Ø Closing of small private restaurant – day after we were there
Ø Man in park who came to talk –citizen or more?
Ø Black man selling books called himself “Sammy Davis” and indeed looked like him.  Wanted to have coffee with us.
Ø Being out of money – could sell my earrings and necklace
Ø Street children and people
Ø Offered woman orange
Ø Citzen-Itza Ride in claptrap car – stop every so often on deserted road to walk around car and kick tires
Ø Taxi – three kinds Private, leased from Govt. and Government
Ø Woolworth’s – where time stopped.  Looked just like the 40’s.  Escalator not working
Ø Cars still running
Ø Everyone blames current problems on US Embargo – All seen to like US Citizens and be interested to talk, but not much English or at least pretend they don’t speak it
Ø Met two who have taught themselves English
Ø Asked two people about O.J. Simpson (which had just been hot topic – neither ever heard of him and his murder of wife)
Ø Frozen in time – one day government said, “You own where you are today”  trouble is they don’t have money to keep up and cannot sell.  Can trade and pass down.
Ø Hard working entrepreneurs – seem happy in spite of sparse life.  If ever they get free they’ll give Florida a run for its money
Ø We arrived in darkness

Ø City full of old American cars and old Russian trucks
Ø Everyone rides a bicycle
Ø Marina slips have painting memorializing previous visitors.
Ø Adjacent hotel called ‘Old Man and the Sea”
Ø Visit to the map store and old city
Ø Incredible ruins
Ø Very much restoration going on.  Government agency in charge of it called Havaniguana.  Most work done in cooperation with other countries or “investors”.  US seems to be the only country NOT there.
Ø My feeling is place is gearing up for major tourist trade.
Ø Curious that Castro went to Vatican seeking support (to enrapture the common people)?
Ø Wonder what Castro is thinking now?
Ø How does he plan for the future?  Is he worried about succession?  Who is his heir?  What does Castro think of the city he’s created?
Ø People have health care but no medicine
Ø Have housing, but cannot afford to fix
Ø Have jobs, but inadequate pay
Ø Have rations, but not enough to survive.  We were told they must earn $100 American dollars to survive (and they do – everyone has a wad of American Money)
Ø There is a whole capitalistic economy that has developed as a sub level beneath the party system like a layer of smoke under a heavy cloud.  Place seems to function well (people know and greet one another with subtle handshakes and body language
Ø (Remember customs man who wanted to accept the Coke and CD, but was scared)
Ø Remember feelings about girls that Al and Yergan picked up.  One very young (like Page) one mid 30’s – neither spoke English .  why would they get involved in such a short-term dean end relationship?  Are they being paid?  Are they hoping for rescue?

Ø Al keeps saying “don’t panic”  so sure he’s cool and clam when in reality he’s like a scared rabbit fussing and fretting.  He cannot tolerate discomfort in someone else.

Ø The marina had a bath house that sometimes had water and never had soap.  It did have attendants and tattle tale gray towels that were folded in a different shape each day.  Once day like a heart and one day like a swan.  No AC anywhere.  It must get hotter than hell in the summer.
Ø If black market vanished overnight there would be no American Dollars and the economy would dry up.  It depends on American dollars.  

My father was a strong influence in my life.  He died in 1978.  I wrote him to bring him up to date.

1998
Margot Woodrough

4801 Osprey Drive South #604

St. Petersburg, FL 33711

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Fax 727-906-8302

margo4it@tampabay.rr.com

Attention: Herman C. Vollmer

Dear Dad,

For many years you and I kept up a letter writing relationship.  I’ve saved all of them – both yours and mine, and someday one of my heirs, if I ever get any will go through them.  At the moment your lineage stops with Page and Steve, but there is still time for them to have children.

I missed writing to you in the twenty-one years since you died.  I haven’t written, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t thought of you.  I think of you often as you are the reason I have so many diverse interests in life.  In fact, I’m a bit like you.  I know a little about many things and can talk to anyone about almost any topic.  I do go blank when it comes to sports, but that wasn’t your big interest either was it?  Why, just last year I was standing in the Smithsonian Castle building looking at a display showing the city of Washington.  Beside me was a young black boy who seemed interested.  I engaged him in banter then told him the story about “Tunlaw” street being Walnut spelled backwards.  Page and Mark, Mark is her new husband, were there and heard the story as well so you see one never knows what will get passed along through the generations.

Lately, I’ve been telling everyone the story of how you always told me I was so lucky because I would live to see the Millennium.  I remember thinking when you said it that that was fine, but I would be so old (57) when it happened that I wouldn’t care and probably couldn’t even breath enough to celebrate.  Well, here we are at T-29 days and counting and I’m still very much alive.  I don’t feel much older than a wise thirty-five, and still zip around fairly well.  I walk two miles everyday.  I am a bit pudgier than I ever have been, but keep thinking that I’ll take care of that one day.  Steve and I are still married and both Page and Steve are grown and successful.  You are in their hearts and we continue to speak of you.  A few years ago Stevie went to Washington and visited 4740 Bradley Blvd.  Its still there, but just as you suspected it went condo.  Guess that means you got out just in time.

The big news is that Steve and I just returned from a trip to Washington and I though you would like to hear about it.  It was on this trip that I thought to write you a Millennium letter since I’m sure you would want to hear the news of Washington.  We flew into National airport.  You would be amazed at how much it looks the same.  Actually, it is just about to change dramatically as the old terminal is completely gutted with only the shell remaining.  Our flight arrived at the old north terminal.  Just a ghost of the old place is there for those who once knew it.  A stranger would think the whole place new.  Actually, most of it is – new and glitzy.  The most incredible thing is that its no longer called National Airport.  No kidding, they renamed it Ronald Regan National Airport!  Bet you wonder why they named it after an actor and a third rate one at that.  You missed the 1980’s when we actually elected RR as president for two terms.  No kidding and everyone thought he was wonderful.  He is still alive today in body, but his mind is shot.  He suffers from Alzheimer’s disease (don’t think they had invented that when you were here) so that he doesn’t know which end is up.  Some say he’s probably had the Alzheimer’s longer than we know – as he tended to drift off even while President.

I must say though that the drive from the airport looks just as it always has, and in fact, in many ways the city is unchanged.  We flew up the Potomac River on the Virginia side crossing the bridge that carried 301 south.  The approach took us up to “Little River Falls” where we turned south east and followed the river down to the airport.  We passed over Roosevelt Island (had they built the memorial to him when you were here?)  It was a lovely trip up the river as we could see the city below, but it looked so small.  I could pick out landmarks but only because I knew what to look for.  The biggest landmark, the Washington Monument, it not its usual self so was a bit blurry – more about that later.

Steve dropped me off at the Library of Congress for a bit of research while he attended his meeting.  You wouldn’t believe what I had to do to be admitted to the research room.  Red tape and bureaucracy and more of the same.  I had to sit at a computer and enter all kinds of data about myself to get a researcher’s card.  You don’t know about computers either do you – at least not the ubiquitous ones we have nowadays.  I never thought I would get a library card from the Library of Congress, and if I’d know that was what they were up to when they took my picture I would have smiled.  As it was I glowered since I was tired of being harassed.

Our first night in Washington we had dinner at “The Monocle” which is THE place to be on “the hill” as they say.  Neat place with red walls and lovely witty phrases written like a border around the cornice of the room.  (I was dying to copy some of them down, but didn’t want to look like a tourist.)  We definitely felt like “insiders” dining here.  We drove from “the hill” to Arlington to “The Virginian” for the night.  Washington is such a lovely town especially at night.  I am so glad that I grew up here and know the place.

The next day I returned to the Library of Congress then walked from the Capitol (pass the Botanical Gardens which by the way are completely gutted and in a state of renovation) to my favorite building in all the world, the East Building of the National Gallery of Art.  Whenever I am there I feel the closeness of your spirit.  What do you know of the building?  I doubt you ever visited it when it was finished, but I bet you lurked around at some part of its construction watching.  I am with you so much in the building because its interior is like a Cathedral.  There is an essential atmosphere of serenity and order in this place as I’ve not found in any other building I’ve experienced.  It is particularly dear to me since your family went there on the Sunday after your funeral.  The building had just opened and was sparkling new and fresh.  We toured an exhibit called “Splendors of Dresden” and had lunch in a wonderful little café tucked in the back of the uppermost level.  From the restaurant we could watch the Alexander Calder mobile turn silently on its axis in the breeze.  It was a beautiful building in 1978 and remains so today.  Last February I was there with Page and introduced her to the delights of the architecture.  We took a creative picture at the glass pyramid that stands between the East and West wing.  I use this as the cover picture for my family web page.

Web Page – that’s a new term for you isn’t it?  How you would have loved and hated the concept of the WWW.  You would have loved the technology that brought the WWW to us, but would have been quick to point out how it intrudes on our freedom.  Yes, it does and I fear that one or two generations in the future there could be significant intrusion onto our liberties.  I doubt you would have wanted a computer for you were too happy just reading the Encyclopedia Britannica one by one.  I remember when you died and I went to your apartment I found that some volumes were right side up and some upside down.  I know that the upside down ones were the ones you had read.  We don’t have books any more.  I doubt its possible to buy them.  Now the encyclopedias are stored on CD-ROM which are tiny little silver disks that can hold a whole shelf on one little disk.  Annette has a computer and uses it rather well.  She is still very opinionated, bright, and interested in politics.  Steve set her up a little stock account and she loves watching her money grow.  She cannot get around too well, but she manages.  I try not to baby her – but to be there when she needs help.

Her sister, Shug will turn 100 years old next March.  The family is remarkably long lived.  Speaking of family, I’ve been dabbling with genealogy for over twenty years now.  I found a researcher who took the Vollmers back to the 1600’s.  Last year I framed the shoe making tools that the Vollmers used for their shop in Annapolis.  Best of all I visited Georgetown and spent the day soaking up its charm.  Let me tell you about a truly splendid fall day.

Since it was Sunday we decided to attend Mass at Holy Trinity.  I’ve never been there and this seemed to be a good opportunity for a visit.  We parked just north of Visitation Convent and walked several blocks to church.  The day was one of those blue-sky brilliant fall days that stick forever in ones memory lying just below the surface ready to surface at the slightest whiff of damp fall leaves.  We were not alone walking, and watching the other pedestrians made me think this muct have been how you and your neighbors reached church each Sunday – on foot.  Since it was the Sunday before Thanksgiving there was a large food drive being conducted on the sidewalk in front of the church.  Inside there was hardly a seat, but we were able to sneak in right on the aisle.  What a glorious church we saw.  The coloring of grey and white is elegantly restrained and the stained glass windows truly glowed in the fall light.  On this last really superior fall day of the 20th century we felt truly excited to be in this church , a place that had been important to the Vollmer and Ogle family for close to two hundred years.  The best was yet to come though.  I remarked to Steve about the beauty of the crucifix and the man in front of us turned to say, “be sure you see the one in the restored old church – today is the dedication day”.  Well, just how lucky could we get?  I wonder what you know of the old church.  Obviously it was old when you were young for its described as the oldest church in Washington, D.C.  There it sits about twenty-five feet above the street and behind the newer church.  The old church has been exquisitely restored with a very modern flare.  The beams are exposed above, it is lit with small intense track lights and on the floor is an exquisite Turkish carpet.  What a jewel it has become!  I wish you could have been there to see it.

Afterwards we walked up to “Whiskey” Ave (as you used to call Wisconsin Avenue) and found a “hole in the wall” place for breakfast to get energy for sightseeing.  The Ginko trees were all in “full yellow” and we picked up leaves and pressed them in the church bulletin as souvenirs of our day and as a “gift” to our Thanksgiving hostess next Thursday.  What a joy it was to walk the streets of Old Georgetown as the leaves drifted to the street in breeze.  This was the perfect culmination of an almost perfect year for us.  Somehow, the earth seems more at peace than ever.  Yes, there are places that are horrible, but I think we are making slow progress.  I’m even told that our population explosion may reverse itself before it does us in.

For the Woodrough family it has been a good time.  Steve finished his big case against the FDIC in March with an unprecedented settlement.  For the balance of the year he has been employed with a follow-up lawsuit.  The stock market has been doing very well and both Page and Steve seem happily married.  Annette continues to be herself and except for not being able to walk well is in great shape.  Yes, it is the last quarter of the 20th century, and every indication is that we will make it through to the new year.  We’ll make it through if the Y2K bug doesn’t get us that is.

You don’t know about that bug do you.  How could you, since computers were not that big when you were here.  Let me keep this short by saying that computer programs were written with little thought as to what a computer would make of a date ending in 00.  About five years ago we started worrying that computers might think this was 1900 not 2000 and shut down.  Let me tell you, it turned out to be a really big problem.  Do you remember how you told me what big parties would happen at the year 2000?  Well, there will be some big ones that’s for sure, but the younger people won’t be there.  All the young workers are ‘standing by” their employers computers on New year’s Eve 1999 waiting to go into action if things start collapsing.  No kidding!  Talk about your basic “kick in the head”.  As for us, we now live in St. Petersburg Florida where it is warm.  We have a boat and plan to celebrate in the town’s “First Night” party which is an incredibly big street party.  Page and Mark are coming as are Mark’s parents.  Oh, I forgot to tell you that Mark made Major this year.

By the way, some other crazy things are happening.  Our last president of the 20th century is about to leave office after two terms.  I could write a book about him, but will keep it simple by saying that this time last year he was impeached and acquitted.  Now, catch this, his wife is about to move out of the White House to New York to a place she calls “my house” and she is running for the Senate from New York.

I have wandered a long way from Georgetown trying to give you a flavor of the times.  We spent the whole glorious afternoon of November 21 walking the lovely old streets using the little Washington guidebook you sent me years ago.  Finally, at 2:00 we entered Dumbarton Oaks, my second favorite place in the world.  We felt as though we had the gardens to ourselves, and wandered and sniffed and stared at the glorious colored leaves. The pebble garden is there.  I remember when it was once the tennis court and I remember you taking me there as it was being built.  I almost cried to have to leave.  In fact, I found a wonderful house where I would like to live and took a picture of it.  I’m sure we couldn’t afford it, but what fun to think about it.

I scheduled a trip to the folger Library to see a play.  At least I thought that was what I was doing.  When we got to the Folger we discovered that fifteen years ago the old Lansburgh building was turned into The Shakeaspeare Theater.  What fun!  We had dinner at a restaurant right next to the theater.  In fact, our table was right inside the former display window of Lansburgh’s.  I told Steve about how Mom Mom would come downtown to shop before there were K-Marts and Wall Marts and suburban Malls.

Speaking of Malls, you wouldn’t believe the one across Lee Highway from Tyson Corner.  We dropped in as we were out touring the places we lived when we were in Washington.  First we went to Kent-Lincolnia where Stevie was born.  Its all black now.  Then we went to Colony Road.