Back in the fall we met some friends in D.C. who were visiting from the West Coast. I love D.C. There is so much history there–and I love history. Meaning I love learning about history, not being a part of it.
Neither DH or I had been in to see the American History Museum. A very interesting mix in that building. They had a collection of the First Lady’s inaugural ball gowns, the highlight of which was the shock of how extremely tiny Mary Lincoln was. It looked as though a 12-year-old girl could wear her dress. Over this past Memorial day, we toured James Monroe’s Ashlawn-Highland where they had a dress of his wife’s, Elizabeth. It was about the same size. I’m amazed. I didn’t know women were so very tiny back then.
We weaved and circled through the exhibits, seeing musical instruments by Stradavaria–who had a whole room devoted to them.
Some of the other exhibits were about space exploration and the history of Birth Control for women, but when we entered the car exhibit, I suddenly felt like I should be walking with a cane.
Imagine my surprise when I see my first car in the museum. What, exactly, does that say about my age?
My first car was a 1977 Honda Civic. Red. This is it, except mine had solid black interior. Still, I didn’t think I was that old. What happened to buggies pulled by horses? Definitely a downer, right up there with not getting carded when the sign says “if you don’t look 40 we card.” You want to pull your I.D. out and practically shove it up their noses.
I wanted to shout, “This is not that old! It shouldn’t be in here. Hey, is this some kind of joke?” Unfortunately, the people gathering to look at it didn’t seem to think it was a mistake or joke at all. The ten year old next to me said, “Wow! Look at that!”
Me? I went outside and visited with the squirrels.