Professionalism

Wonder what the rules are when it comes to establishing the boundaries of "professionalism"?  Who made them up?  Are they one-size-fits-all?  Or is it a subjective assessment based on the preferences of whoever's in charge?

I've been wondering about my own professionalism or the lack thereof.  There are many questionable behaviors which comprise my demeanor, but for the most part, I'd characterize myself as professional.

Pros for Professionalism

• I do not fart in public.
• I do my best to call my superiors "sir" and "ma'am".  Most of the time, anyway.
• I have acceptable hygiene practices.
• I listen respectfully to others' opinions in meetings and refrain from remarking on the dumb ones.
• My clothes are usually clean and pressed or at least haven't been wadded up lately.
• I accept and admit my mistakes and make sure to take responsibility for them.
• I don't take credit for other people's work.

Cons

• I would rather wear old garbage than pantyhose.  Whoever thought those up is a cruel, cruel MAN.
• I call everybody honey or sweetie. 
• I'm a serial hugger, and have been known to kiss people on the cheek.
• I can easily slip into redneck slang as it is my native tongue.  Y'all can just get over it.
• I cry, in front of bosses, co-workers, my own team members.  I hate it and do my best to not do it, but once my nose gets red and my chin starts wiggling, it's all downhill from there.

Hmmm.  Maybe not so professional.  But definitely me.

Travelers Envy

I travel for work.  A lot.  Not as much as some people, though, and for that I'm grateful. 

When I transitioned into the job I now occupy, I was intrigued and excited by the prospect of being an official business traveler.  I would look smart and professional as I strode through the various concourses in my heels and suit, giving confident direction to my colleagues via BlackBerry and Bluetooth.  I would breeze through security and into my first class seating without a thought or a care.

HA.

Most trips I am lucky to keep up with all of my personal belongings, much less look professional or even pause long enough to smell first class.  Yes I travel a lot, but most trips are just a few hundred miles - too far to drive, but barely worth all the time and effort it takes to travel via Atlanta's Hartsfield-Jackson airport. 

You see, it takes me an hour to get to the airport, plus getting there early enough to fool with security, plus the probable delay... which means that I could've driven to Lexington and had a sandwich before the doggone plane leaves the ground in ATL.

But I digress.

It's become a great source of interest to me to ascertain people's "frequent flyer" designation.  I'm a personal fan of Delta (no, really!) and so I'm in their SkyMiles program.  I thought I had hit the jackpot last fall when I was "awarded" SILVER MEDALLION status.  I won Silver!  Woo hoo!  This must mean I'm an Official Business Traveler!

Again, expectations significantly outpaced reality, and it turns out that the Silver status basically means that I can check one "free" bag (which used to be free in the first place) and I might luck into a first class seat if everybody else in first class has a car wreck on the way to the airport.  I love watching the "Upgrade List", just for fun...when I first check in, I'm like #2 out of 3 people vying for those 2 open spots left in the First Class cabin.  Yet I mysteriously drop to #25 out of 30 in very short order.

Similarly, I thought I would get an automatic invitation for the pleasure of my company in the Delta Sky Club.  I'm a Silver member after all -- don't these people know who I am?  Again, it seems that Silver status basically means that you can buy a day pass for ten bucks cheaper than the average joe.  Meh.

And what's the real benefit of the SkyClub anyway?  Free booze just doesn't hold the same appeal for me that it once did, and I've got wi-fi pretty much anywhere.  Ok, the chairs are more comfy and you might spot a minor celebrity that can't afford their own private jet (I saw The Captain and Tenille once in the Sky Club.  When I was 20.  On a trip with my family. I knew it was them because of her hair and his glasses. Yes, I got The Captain's autograph.  No, I didn't ask them to sing Muskrat Love.)

The Sky Club is also somewhat appealing when you take into account the number of bums that occupy an airport toilet on any given day. Hygiene odds are better when the herd is thinner.  Just saying.

For a while there, I thought it would really be cool if I can one day be a Platinum or Diamond member -forget this amateur Silver level.  I'm going to run with the big dogs!

But today it occurred to me that people pay an awful lot for those cards.  Not so much the price of air fare...which is ridiculous anyway..but instead the priceless commodity of TIME.  Time with family, time with friends, time spent doing something other than waiting to go to the next somewhere.

So I'm OK with my Silver status, although it is about to turn Gold.  Until today, I didn't consider the sad side of frequent flyer milestones.

But if I have to travel for work, which I do, I'm pretty happy about the Sky Club toilets.

A Woman of Few Words

Thats what I want to be when I grow up. A woman of few words. Those darn things can HURT people.

Spring Break 2012 - Epilogue

It is Easter Sunday and I am relieved.

-- Relieved because our spring break trip is over.  Maybe ours is the only one, but this family doesn't do well with that much togetherness.  Don't get me wrong - we loved our trip and we love each other.  Our vacation gave us a hundred new memories;  a few yucky ones, but most are wonderful.  See prior posts for details. 

It's just that we are four very sensitive people (even though they think I'm the only one.)  The nice thing about being sensitive is that you can easily enjoy all the bright beauty and joy and goodness around you;  the bad thing is that your feelings get hurt even when others don't mean to hurt them.  Anyway, you can't cram 4 sensitive people into a minivan and a series of hotel rooms and not expect there to be some drama.

-- Relieved because our friends that kept our dog are still speaking to us.  Plus the dog lost some weight at their house.

-- Relieved to see my daddy in good health and good spirits yesterday. 

-- Relieved that we came home from a vacation without going into the red.

-- Relieved that I can now log back into Facebook and drink a diet Coke.

But most importantly, and far outside my ability to describe it in words, is the relief I feel from believing in the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.  See, even though I've said I believed in him for more than 30 years,  I thought it was up to me - to do good, to be good, to do more, to do better, to try harder, to...to... to make myself acceptable enough to earn peace and get forgiven for the mess I've made of my life.

I recently heard a teacher explaining the difference between calling myself a "Christian" versus calling myself a disciple and follower of Jesus Christ.  Maybe it's semantics, but it really stuck with me.  All kinds of nastiness throughout history has been perpetrated by people who called themselves Christians, and when I see the judgmental and critical nature of many churchgoers today, I don't particularly want to be associated with that either.

If I can be honest, there aren't a lot of "Christians" who have anything that I want.  Looks like a lot of work and unhappiness to me.

But, oh the peace of being a follower of Jesus Christ.  Just accepting him, without arguing or questioning or trying to be good enough.  I don't need to know why he did what he did - I just know that he did, and scripture is explicitly clear that he did it for me and for you.

To fully believe and accept that he took all my black-hearted, selfish and nasty sin to the grave 2000 years ago, and then came back to life three days later without it...

Now that's what I call relief!  Happy Easter!

HC Tour 2012 - Homeward Bound

Upon awakening yesterday morning in Williamsburg, we made the decision to blow off Gatlinburg altogether and just head home.  I've been to Gatlinburg hundreds of times, and in retrospect, it seems kind of dumb that I would prolong a really long vacation just to stop there and spend the night, when I have a perfectly good place stay right down the road from there on the Tennessee River - my dad's house.

So I called ahead and booked a room at our favorite Knoxville destination, and down the road we went.  I-64 on the west side of Richmond is breathtaking, as is I-81 down through the Shenandoah Valley.  Perhaps if our timing had been better, we could've planned to stick around in the area for a few days - but we were more than ready to be home. 

Although I go to Knoxville at least twice a year, I am always approaching from the south.  Yesterday was the first time I've come in from Virginia since...well, it's been so long that I don't know how long it's been.  Talk about gorgeous countryside;  the mountains and hills of southwest Virginia and northeast Tennessee are pretty enough to make your heart hurt.  I have little vignette memories associated with most of the exits up through there -

Bulls Gap - as the esteemed national committeewoman for the Tennessee Young Republicans, I was once invited to serve on the panel of judges for the annual Bulls Gap Christmas lighting competition.  Clark Griswold has NOTHING on the good people of Bulls Gap, Tennessee.

Jonesborough - world's greatest destination for antiquing and junk-shopping.  There are little stores lining the main drag in Jboro full of treasures like old Marlboro signs, random dishware and ancient stacks of vinyl record albums.  And election buttons from campaigns long past.  I love election paraphernalia.

Fall Branch - not particularly noteworthy except this is the home of the Tennessee Highway Patrol in that area and I always feel compelled to turn down the radio and carefully observe the speed limit.  THP in Knoxville never made me particularly nervous, but them boys up the mountain ain't fooling around.

Morristown - in another opportunity to serve in a dignitary capacity, I was the lead judge for the chicken category in a barbecue fundraiser to save the old Princess Theatre in downtown Morristown.   

Douglas Dam - did my open-water checkout dives in the murky waters around Douglas Dam.  Some people earn their scuba certificate in the crystal waters of the Caribbean or in the Florida Keys -- I got mine diving around tires and a sunken car in a muddy Tennessee lake.

Sevierville/Gatlinburg - well, there's just too much associated with exit 407 to put in a paragraph, so this will have to be another post for another time.  It does make me smile to see that this is now referred to as the "Dollywood" exit.  God love her for pouring all that money back into these mountains.

We got to Dad's around suppertime last night and enjoyed a great visit with him;  my sister came in later last night from Texas, and I got to spend some good time with her too.  Breakfast with Dad and then back on the road this morning by 11;  we stopped in Canton for a late lunch then pulled into our driveway around 3.

Not a moment too soon - we were extremely ready to be HOME.

HC Tour 2012 - Day Seven

Much much much cooler weather today - it even sprinkled on us a while this morning while we were walking in the colonial area. 

Yesterday was at least twenty degrees warmer;  I forgot to mention that we got a couple of hours at the pool yesterday.  Like most of the amenities here, "the pool" is an understated misnomer.  There are actually several pools - an indoor lap pool, a huge hot tub, a large family pool and also a specifically-named quiet pool.

I was splashing around in the family pool with Jamie and Grace and enjoying the sunshine, when Jamie yelled, "Mom, DUCK!"

So I ducked, and he pointed and said, "no, Mom, DUCK!"  I turned just in time to see a beautiful mallard land in the swimming pool right next to us.  (Thus far at Williamsburg, we've seen horses drawing carriages, and several new spring lambs, but a duck in the pool?)  Of course, Jamie tried to approach the duck, who was not interested in being approached and quickly took wing.

Today we walked around the upper end of the colonial area near the Governor's Palace;  we also toured the Abby Aldrich Rockefeller Museum.  My favorite part of the museum was the map exhibit;  it was fun to look at original maps of the colonies and picking out my old stomping grounds based on the location of the "Tenefse River". 

We also toured the "Public Hospital for Persons of Insane and Disordered Minds".  It broke my heart to see the cruel ignorance of a prison cell as the place of "confinement" for those suffering from mental illness in colonial America.  (Not sure they had much choice, but I guess that's fodder for a future blog post.)

Completely unrelated to anything else - I thought I should mention that we saw a young father who had the longest hair of any human being I've ever seen, literally down past his calves, and twisted in matted dreads.  His wife's hair was comparatively short, ending at her hips, and their small son had a regular, little-boy haircut.  The sight got stuck in my mind for several minutes...how does he wash it and comb it?  How does he sleep without getting tangled up and choking himself?  How many years has it been since his last haircut?  I didn't feel particularly judgmental - just curious.

The Mister gave me the gift of time to myself this afternoon to go enjoy the spa.  I got a "reflexology" massage, where they focus just on your hands and feet - it was amazing.  Even more amazing were the extras associated with receiving services at the Colonial Williamsburg spa - a relaxation room with crazy-soft blankets; a steam room with optional menthol mist; a huge jacuzzi that would easily seat a couple dozen folks; one of those giant showers with a showerhead as big as a hula-hoop; lavender-infused shampoo, conditioner, body wash and lotion; every personal hygiene item you could possibly want; and use of a silk-and-terry robe that felt a lot like wearing a cloud.  The massage was great - but the additional amenities made it an incredible experience.

So basically, I am spoiled rotten at the moment, but so grateful to my better half for such a wonderful gift. 

Tonight we're thinking about room service and taking it easy.  Since we've cut Roanoke out of our itinerary, we will have a long day's drive tomorrow to Gatlinburg.  Getting excited at the thought of being home!

HC Tour 2012 - Day Six

Williamsburg.  What a wonderful place! 

Our colonial adventure began last night with supper at Shields Tavern.  Our simple but delicious supper of pork and beef was complemented by balladeers who conducted sing-alongs throughout the dining rooms.  Sounds cheesy, I know, but it was actually quite fun.  Afterwards, we had a lovely stroll back to the lodge.  The town was all but empty, with just a few fellow guests meandering the quiet streets.

I've been here once before, on a class trip when I was 16, but I didn't have much recollection of it.  My preconception, therefore, was that this week's visit would be something like a colonial theme park or an upscale Dollywood.  Not that there is anything wrong with that, but gosh, this is so much more!

The proprietors of this area have gone to great lengths to preserve and present an accurate replication of 18th-century America.  From the costumes to the menus to the activities to the architecture and even the floors, everything works together to create a colonial atmosphere.  I was delighted to overhear a couple of costumed characters on the street having a spirited discussion about the Stamp Act and British taxation which didn't appear to be scripted at all.

We went to the courthouse and saw two civil disputes being heard by the court;  while it was light and silly, we also learned about pre-revolutionary court proceedings.  (We were even prompted to say, "God Save the King" at the open and close of court.)  We visited a couple of shops and enjoyed cool drinks with ginger cakes out on the lawn.  It has been a gorgeous and unseasonably warm day.

The only "downer" about our visit to Williamsburg is that it is also jam-packed here with students and families on spring break.  It was quiet last night, but today Duke of Gloucester Street was thick with people in t-shirts and sunscreen. 

Unlike D.C., however, most of our fellow tourists are well-mannered and cheerful.  Also unlike D.C., all of the Williamsburg personnel we've encountered have been unusually gracious and accommodating, despite the crowds.  They chat with us and seem sincerely interested in making sure we enjoy ourselves.

We've had such a good time thus far that we're cancelling our Thursday night reservation at the Hotel Roanoke and are staying on an extra day here instead.  There's still so much we want to see and do here, plus we may try and squeeze in a side-trip to Jamestown.  It just didn't make any sense to throw all of our stuff back into the suitcases tomorrow and drive to Roanoke for a one-night stay there.

Between D.C. and Arlington and now Williamsburg, I have walked more in the last six days than I have in the last six months.  It's a good thing because there is no shortage of outstanding food here, and my barely-existent willpower is no match for it.  But my feet and back and hips are so dang sore from all this walking - getting out of bed in the morning is almost comical.  If you're old enough to remember Sanford and Son, then just imagine Fred Sanford walking around the junk shop - that's what I look like first thing.  The Mister is kind enough not to make fun of me, although I'm sure it must be tempting.

HC Tour 2012 - Day Five

It was with little hesitation this morning that we unanimously chose to skip the International Spy Museum and get on out of Dodge.  Maybe we'll come back to D.C. again one day, but it probably won't be anytime soon, and it definitely won't coincide with spring break.

The Girl said that she would like to see the Iwo Jima Memorial before we left (she is studying WWII in school), so we checked out of the hotel and made our way over to Arlington National Cemetery.

Oh, my.  What an experience.

I've seen images of it all my life, but nothing compares to standing at the foot of that monument, looking up at the giant flag whipping against a clear blue sky.  The Girl observed the fine detail in the Marines' uniforms, their weapons, even their fingernails...she has an artist's appreciation for such precision.

We then decided to spend some more time at Arlington today.  We went over to the main entrance and parked at the visitors' center, then skipped the tour bus and instead walked up the hill to the Tomb of the Unknowns.  It was a beautiful day today, with perfect temperatures and cherry blossoms still fresh throughout the cemetery, along with tulips of every conceivable color.  Signs posted along the way politely reminded us that these were hallowed grounds and that quiet reverence was in order.

I don't have quite the right words to capture the feelings I had while standing in this gorgeous garden full of generations of dead servicemen and women, overlooking the Pentagon next door.  I am all about national defense, and I am proud as I can be of my husband's Navy career, but something about the proximity between the war engine and the cemetery made me feel ill and inexplicably sad.   The ceremonial "walking the mat" by the tomb guard of course made me cry;  the solemn symbolism of 21 steps and 21 seconds, plus the tomb caption that the occupant is "known only to God", sent tears running down my face.  It's all so beautiful and horrible and sad.

It was shocking then, and infuriating to see the casual disregard that many people displayed - a woman chatting away on her cell phone while standing next to the Tomb of the Unknown; teenagers shouting and shoving and running down the hill; people smoking surreptitiously on the hillside...I felt a surge of righteous anger at the overwhelming thoughtlessness. And then the Boy said, "Mom, don't these people know this is a cemetery?" and I realized that a lot of folks just don't know any better.  It wasn't that they were trying to be rude or disrespectful - they just don't know better, and it is absolutely not my place to judge them for it.

We had the unexpected privilege of bearing witness to a naval military funeral while we were there today, complete with a band and horse-drawn caisson and cannon fire.  I now have a deeper appreciation for being buried with "full military honors."  It was an honor to have witnessed it.

Finally left the D.C. area in early afternoon and arrived here in Williamsburg around 4ish.  What a difference a couple hundred miles (and a couple hundred years) can make!  We left behind the hustle and bustle of a massive metropolitan political center and arrived a short while later in this clean and quiet little hamlet where the fight for all that political freedom began in the first place.

Be careful what you fight for...you may not know what to do with it once you have it.

HC Tour 2012 - Day Four

What a DAY. 

I will never regret our decision to bring the family to our nation's Capital this week, but I am so disappointed in the events of our day today.

Breakfast was a repeat of yesterday, with dozens of families competing for microwave privileges and a handful of open seats.  Two little girls trying to find the spoons were falsely accused of cutting in the microwave line by a crabby old man with a sharp NY accent -- basically, civility was sorely lacking in the entire affair. 

Today's itinerary was to consist primarily of several hours at the National Air and Space Museum.  The Mister's ten-year naval aviation career, combined with his affinity for science and science fiction, made this a "must-see" destination on our HC tour.

Sadly, it was also apparently a must-see for approximately a quarter-million other people.  It was miserably crowded to the point of unpleasantness, with ceaseless jostling and elbowing and shoving.  Nobody in the building knew how to walk in a straight line; scores of poorly-supervised field trip students ran rampant throughout the entire museum; and the phrases "excuse me", "thank you" and "you're welcome" were all left outside on the front steps next to the pretzel vendor.

Now, I will be the first to admit that our children aren't angels, and that the Mister and I are not always the most courteous people in a crowd, but doggone it, we try.  I felt my own composure crumbling with every exhibit we tried to see;  although we stood patiently in line to see each item (moonrocks and newspaper clippings and space memorabilia, etc.), there was inevitably some yahoo that would shove his family in front of the Girl and push us out of the way.

I get that it's Spring Break and that families from around the globe have also chosen this week to visit Washington and that my family is just one of thousands who have the privilege of being here.  I'm not so naive that I expected it to be quiet and empty and just waiting for the four of us to enjoy all the city has to offer.  But I guess it was a tad unrealistic to assume that the throngs would be reasonably well-mannered and respectful to each other.

Knowing my own temperament and that of The Mister, we knew that things would only deteriorate as the crowds continued to increase, so we gave up at Air and Space around 1 p.m. and went to look for lunch.  We ended up at Carmine's on 7th where we enjoyed pasta and salad and each other's company. 

One of the best things about our little family is that we are averse to rigorous scheduling;  it's good to have a plan, but it's also OK if the plan falls apart.  We were worn out from museum combat, so after lunch we meandered around and back to the hotel for a nap.  (A nap!  I actually took a nap! On a weekday! And I didn't feel one bit guilty!  Ok, well maybe just a little bit...but not much.)

After our rest, we went back out to see the National Portrait Gallery and the Museum of American Art.  We saw so many beautiful pieces, it would be hard to choose which was my favorite...but again I found myself leaning towards things political in nature. The presidential portraits were magnificent, with an entire section dedicated to Ronald Reagan and including some of his doodles on White House stationery.  Turns out he was quite an artist himself.  Portraits of war heroes from across the centuries were also amazing - I was happy to meet Admiral Farragut up close and personal.

Unfortunately, I again allowed strangers to spoil my enjoyment...beginning with the rabid and hyper-empowered security personnel in the portrait gallery.  A particularly hostile woman with an earpiece told me to stop my son from leaning on the plexiglas display cases, gesturing towards some kid that wasn't mine.  The kid pointed at his own mother across the room, and the security woman went over to chastise her for neglecting her duty. 

A few minutes later, though, it was my son who was closely inspecting a portrait - not touching it, but certainly peering at it closely.  Another security guard barked at the Boy to step back at least one foot away from the painting.  I felt bad for my boy at that point - he really was trying to engage with the notion that art is something you can experience and not just look at.

Some time later, the Boy and the Girl were sitting on a cushion in an upstairs hallway while the Mister and I perused one of the adjacent galleries.  Another member of the museum militia snapped at the Boy for reclining on the cushion, telling him to sit up straight.  Really?  He wasn't hurting anything, he wasn't touching a display and honestly it wasn't a particularly nice cushion.

So...our last full day in DC has been something of a bust, but we remain happy to be together and even happier to be leaving tomorrow.  I don't remember it being this way on my numerous prior pilgrimages;  yes, it's been crowded and yes I'm easily frustrated...but there is a new tension and unpleasantness in the air here that I just want to leave behind.

The Mister and the Boy will head down to the International Spy Museum first thing in the morning while the Girl and I pack up our belongings and prepare to depart.  Around midday, we will drive down to Williamsburg to spend the next few days learning more about colonial life.  I don't anticipate that it will be particularly calm and quiet there either, but hopefully there will be a greater degree of common courtesy and general respect.

Or I am going to have to kick SOMEBODY'S butt.  Not sure whose butt it will be just yet, but woe to the  next person who shoves my daughter out of the way or chastises my son for being thirteen.  Heaven help them.

HC Tour 2012 - Day Three

We began Day Three with breakfast in the hotel lobby with what felt like three hundred other hotel guests, all clamoring for the waffle iron and forgetting their manners.

The view from our window looks down on St. Mary Mother of God parish - it is a beautiful gothic cathedral, small but impressive.  As we sat down to breakfast, we were moved to see a Palm Sunday processional - each congregant holding a palm frond and walking slowly down Fifth Street then into the church.  Sigh;  I miss my church family today.

We then took a brisk walk from the hotel to the U.S. Navy Memorial - one of The Mister's favorite places in D.C., and now mine as well.  The flags and fountains are magnificent, and it makes me slightly weepy to see The Navy Hymn ("Eternal father, strong to save...") inscribed in the circular stone steps. 

From there, we made our way down towards the main Smithsonian compound.  While waiting for the signal to cross at 10th and Constitution, we were amused to happen upon a cluster of tourists riding Segway scooters.  I'm sure it's a great way to see the city, but watching them roll around in a herd like that was hilarious.  The Boy nicknamed them "The Mild Ones".

We spent most of the day visiting the Museum of American History.  So much to see!

Immediately upon arrival, The Boy and I were eager to try the ride simulators downstairs (I love rollercoasters), so that was our first stop.  What. A. Rip-off.  Fourteen bucks later, I was crabby and mildly nauseated and not the least bit entertained.

From there, we decided to go up to the top floor and then work our way down.  If I had to name my favorite exhibit from the entire day, it would have to be The American Presidency on the Third Floor East.  I must admit to becoming more cynical about the executive branch in recent years, but this collection of presidential artifacts stirred my old enthusiasm.  Something about seeing Lincoln's stovepipe hat, along with Reagan campaign paraphernalia and the Jefferson Bible just made it seem a lot bigger than any one man.

Around 3ish, we decided we were getting tired and hungry, so we made our way to The Stars and Stripes Cafe on the bottom floor.  While admission to all Smithsonian museums is free, you apparently need a second mortgage if you're also planning to have lunch.  Two cheeseburgers, a slice of cheese pizza and a salad later, we were $55 lighter than when we came in.  FIFTY-FIVE dollars for lunch in a museum.  My cynicism quickly returned.

After we ate, we decided to make use of our 48-hour "hop on, hop off" tour bus passes, mostly because we were too tired to start another museum.  Let me go on record here by saying that I am usually embarrassed to be a tourist;  in general, tourists are rude and boorish and loud and poorly-dressed.  Tourists wear black socks with sandals and look lost a lot.  I hate to look lost.

After all, it doesn't seem all that long ago that I was here in D.C. with a group of other regional healthplan leaders, working the halls in the Dirksen and Hart buildings in opposition to the Medicare Modernization Act and having dinner at The Monocle with our lobbyist.  I was extremely cool and was happy to tell you about my coolness in case you hadn't sensed it on your own.

Yet today I found myself perched atop a "SEE D.C." double-decker sardine tin, filled to the brim with tourist families pointing and taking pictures.  And I was the chief pointer and picture-taker, and doggone happy about it too.  (No black socks though.)

After making the loop around the Tidal Basin and the Jefferson and Lincoln Memorials, our bus wound its way back around and up towards our hotel.  The nearest stop to our hotel is near the International Spy Museum and the National Portrait Gallery;  as we stepped off the bus, we were dismayed to see large crowds milling about in apparent anticipation of some kind of event.

Then some dude asked me if I had any tickets I wanted to sell.  Tickets?  Oh no, please tell me it's not going to be another "big game" crush of people like last night.  The Girl and I suffer from mild agoraphobia, and I shared her alarm at envisioning a replay of last night's attempts to find dinner amid throngs of crazed sports fans.  Worse still was the fact that tonight's crowds seemed to have a higher percentage of smokers among their ranks;  the Girl cannot bear public smoking and will overtly demonstrate her disgust by pulling her t-shirt up over her nose and coughing dramatically.

Things went downhill as we sought out our supper venue.  Clyde's?  A 90-minute wait.  Legal Sea Foods was estimated to be an hour, but the hostess offered to take my cell number and call us if a table opened up sooner.  In weary resignation, we decided to just go back to the hotel and order room service.

It was on our way back to the hotel that we learned the nature of tonight's big attraction...turns out that Bruuuuuce is playing the Verizon Center tonight, and Springsteen fans have come from all over the country to see him and tour D.C. at the same time.  Within fifteen minutes of our return to our hotel room and collectively kicking off our shoes, my cell phone rang and Ashley from Legal Sea Foods said that our table was ready...three blocks away, and back through throngs of E-Street wannabes.

Suffice to say that was some mighty fine crab dip and clam chowder - worth every bit of the hassle factor involved in getting back to it.

After dinner, we walked back in the dark and decided to go up the extra block past our hotel to CVS.  We wanted to get a couple of toiletries we'd forgotten, along with some reasonably priced sodas for the room.

It was here that the Girl witnessed her first street crime;  an unpleasantly fragrant man tried to leave the store without paying for his snacks, and the clerk chased him out onto the street.  He came back in, cursing about how he'd paid for these "**** chips" and this was a bunch of "f***ing bull****".  Having concluded our own purchases, we quietly made our way out the door, only to have the Chip Thief follow us out as he muttered obscenities.

As soon as he passed by us, the Girl grabbed her daddy's hand, and with huge saucer eyes she announced that she would never ever EVER live in a city.

Nice place to visit - but not sure that I blame her.