Saturday:
FAMILY FUN FAIR!
A day of popcorn, pizza, hotdogs, lemonade, jumprope, moonbounce, and 300 screaming children. Can we say Awe-sum? Other than being bitten by the popcorn machine and almost assassinated by a kite-toting, sprinting first grader, I survived. (My index finger has a large blood blister and there's a fishing line cut across my ankles, though.) I'm pretty sure I'm the only one who sustained any injuries, though, and with 300 kids running around on asphalt, that's a pretty good record. No one can say that Rising Hope folks don't know how to do a party!
On my end, too, it was really great to see the fruits of the hard work Charles and I had put in. Do you have any idea how long we tried to figure out how to translate 'moon bounce' into Spanish? (In the end we just gave up and put "trampolin.")Several of the kids and parents I had handed out fliers to ended up coming, so it was nice to be able to smile and say "Hey there! I'm really glad you decided to come." I was given the privelege of manning the popcorn machine as well, so I almost felt like I had jumped into a wormhole between childhood summers in the Rice Field Snack Shack back home and this new, crazy summer in the middle of Alexandria, VA.
The day also uncovered a talent I never knew I had. Upon our arrival that morning, Charles and I needed to fill 300 water balloons. Yes, 300. And we had about an hour and a half. In the end, I tied 200 in about an hour and ten minutes--pretty much one balloon every 20 seconds. For whatever reason, I felt an enormous sense of accomplishment while I was tying those balloons like a one-woman machine. I kind of want a medal to hang around my neck: The unofficial Fastest Water Balloon Maker in the WORLD! (WORLD! would be written in glitter, by the way.)
Anyway, our 300 water balloons were used in one of the largest games of balloon toss I've ever seen. It went about 6 rounds; we finally called it quits when the kids started getting a little violent with the tossing. Charles and I even got a chance to get in on the action. I think both of us played twice. I made it into the finals at one point, but we ended up tying with the other partners who were still in. And, I admit it, I "bobbled" the balloon in order to make it so. All in all, it was a good day. I left with my legs throbbing to the bone and admittedly a bit sick of kids and aggravating parents, but it was still a blast and a half.
Sunday:
Relatively unremarkable. I was exhausted, so I went to church, sang, and came home.
Monday:
FIRST DAY OFF! WHEEEEEEE! Who let the interns out?
Charles and I ventured into Old Town Alexandria for an afternoon of aimless wandering. We began by searching out cheap parking (which took awhile) and then set out on foot. It's a beautiful neighborhood with lots of odd little shops as well as your typical Restoration Hardwares and Banana Republics. (There's an Ann Taylor Loft as well, which I may need to return to when you get here, Mom...they have a great petites section...) We decided to just walk downhill because that would likely lead us to the waterfront and, of course, we were right.
We also stumbled upon a wonderful place full of awkward beauty: The Torpedo Factory. Down on the waterfront, an old WWII torpedo factory has been converted into an artist's colony. It's beautiful and funky and smells like dried clay and turpentine and creativity (which is code for artsy-building smells that I don't know how to label.) At one point I found myself staring into a huge ball made of what looked like tin can cylinders and discovering that as I looked, parts of my soul were being sucked into the center never to return to me again. (At least, that's what the description block said. The piece was titled "The Center of the Known Universe." The guy was...quirky.) My soul feels intact to me, but it's hard to assert my opinions when I'm up against the center of everything. Then again, there is also a center of everything in Delphi, Greece...maybe we could put them close to each other and see what happens!
After the Torpedo Factory, we grabbed some frozen yogurt and strolled down the waterfront. Eventually we just made ourselves at home on a big rock near the water and chatted. There was some trepidation in our chatting, though, because after we sat down we were perpetually surrounded by maniacal birds. We'd have six little finches sitting at our feet staring at us menacingly while we talked. I kept getting unnerved--I swore one was just going to walk up to my shoe, peck it, and then we'd be flocked. To this, Charles simply suggested, "Eh, just punch it."
Finch-punching? I'M IN! (Not really...please don't call PETA or anything...)
After narrowly escaping our encounter with the bird mafia, we set forth in search of victuals. It is at this point in our excursion that we stumbled upon Bilbo Baggins' Wine Bar!
It was tasty!
It was epic!
It was orc-free and hobbit-licious!
I did note one stark contradiction, however. In this hobbit-namesake establishment, the majority of tables were the lofted kind where, if you're me, you sit on a chair as tall as you are and dangle your feet with varying degrees of discomfort. I ask you, how could Bilbo have eaten at his own establishment?
After our lovely stay in the Shire, we moseyed over to Arlington National Cemetery which was just up the road. Long story short: We saw beautiful monuments, we felt respectful and grateful and connected to centuries of American history, we saw the changing of the guard, and then
we got soaked.
In a downpour.
Which then became a huge gale, but thankfully not until we had reached the van.
There was a great beauty in it, though. I got to walk leisurely through Arlington National Cemetery barefoot and in the rain. The thing that struck me about it was the beauty I felt in that act. It wasn't at all depressing, though had I envisioned it beforehand I would have assumed it would be. It was very calming and, at least to me, life-affirming. Here we were, a couple of kids, strolling through a downpour as we passed row after row of headstones, many of young men our age. It seemed symbolic to me. It seemed like a way of saying, "What you gave isn't forgotten, and we will walk on with you present in our minds. Not just on solemn memorial days, but in our simple acts, too." It was a good day.
Quote of the afternoon: as we drove into D.C., Charles says in awe "Omygosh, we're in friggin Minas Tirith!"
(...crazy witch-king on the throne and all?)
And it ended with dinner and KUNG FU PANDA.
(I now know the secret ingredient to the secret ingredient soup.)
Tuesday:
Not as fun or epic as Monday, but still good. Slower day at work. Passed a group of protesters standing in front of a building with signs that said "Honk against terrorism" and "Terrorists trained here." Turns out that building was the Institute of Saudi Arabia, an Arab high school owned by the Saudis. I don't know much of the story beyond that.
Also, a clipboard fell off a tall cabinet while I was opening one of the doors. It connected with my forehead and yanked off a small portion of skin above my left eyebrow. I had to wear a band-aid there for awhile, resulting in me looking like a white girl Nelly wannabe.
Pero, esta bien.
