Just inside the Van Gogh Immersion Experience entrance is a bust of the famous artist. We recently saw it in Washington, D.C. Colorful and rapidly changing holograms representing various Van Gogh paintings were projected onto the figure.
I took a picture of the entire head, then had an idea. In deference to the sordid history of the man, I decided to frame the photo so that part of Van Gogh’s left ear was cut off.
Sorry. I just couldn’t help myself. Please take it as an old dad joke.
I gladly handed over my iPhone to the ticket-taker at the Van Gogh Immersive Experience in Washington, D.C. We had only just gathered everyone together at the entrance when she had offered to take our family photo, an image I dearly wanted.
It had been four years since the three families had all been together, and in that time, another grandchild had joined our ranks. Our two oldest grandsons had never met the youngest. I wanted this precious moment to be documented for perpetuity. As mobile as today’s societies are, especially the younger generations, I wasn’t taking any chances. I considered the family photograph as my personalized Father’s Day present.
As it turned out, this was the only photo of all of us together at the same place at the same time we got in the three-day gathering in our nation’s capital. The comings and goings of our active crew mirrored the busy lives of our adult children, their spouses, and teenagers. I certainly wasn’t disappointed.
I had my shot and could now relax into the follow-the-crowd mode. The other adults, our daughter, son, son-in-law, and daughter-in-law, would share the responsibility of setting the agenda for the Sunday through Tuesday reunion. I’m usually the one to suggest and plan trips. However, this time I silently relished my grandfatherly role. Though not surprised, I marveled at their skills in managing offspring, arranging transportation, and finding restaurants to suit everyone.
Of course, they consulted Nana and Poppy about places we wanted to go, do, visit, and tour. I was more than happy to go with the flow. Shoot. I would have been pleased if we had stayed in the hotel. A certain familial satisfaction overcame me.
The pandemic played a significant role in keeping us apart all this while. Our son, his wife, and the newest grandson, Teddy, live in upstate New York, a seven-hour drive from the lovely Shenandoah Valley, where my wife and I live. We moved there six years ago from our home of 38 years in Ohio’s Amish country to be close to our daughter and her family.
Teddy arrived over a year ago, complicating our Nana and Poppy roles. Our son and his wife have done an exceptional job keeping us informed of Teddy’s progress, and we travel north as we can.
But here we all were, assembled together. Everyone agreed to make the Van Gogh experience our initial group event. The New Yorkers intended to take the Metro from Dulles International Airport to the hotel. Due to track maintenance, that plan got derailed. It took them longer to get from the airport to the hotel than from Rochester to Dulles.
With air temperatures heating up, the Van Gogh Immersion became the perfect place to chill and smother Teddy with plenty of attention. To enhance the experience, lounge chairs, bean bags, small ottomans, and blankets were scattered around the gymnasium-sized, carpeted room. We all found our relaxation niche and enjoyed the show. Teddy loved showing off his newly found walking and running skills. The rest of us merely basked in the moments as they unfolded.
That was plenty for the first day. Returning to the hotel, we ordered dinner from a local pizzeria. We found the perfect place to hold a pizza party and enjoy each other’s company, the building’s rooftop. I relished the lively chatter, the food, and the cityscape views. We finished the day with gelato and a rousing game of cards with the teens. It was a balance we all needed to complete the day.
We walked a mile in the morning’s coolness the next day for a delicious breakfast spread. The portions were so large that only the teens cleaned their plates. We stayed so long that the day’s heat had already begun as we worked our way toward the National Mall. It was Juneteenth, and we had tickets for the National Museum of African American History and Culture. We wanted the youngsters to see first-hand the sad history of how African Americans arrived in this country and what they endured in slavery, the Jim Crow era, and the present. The chronology began on the lower floors, and we worked our way up in small groups. Is there another choice when you have a toddler and septuagenarians in the same family? We didn’t have time to do the outstanding museum justice.
We exited into the early afternoon heat and humidity commonplace for D.C. summer days. Teddy’s parents found a refreshment truck parked near some massive shade trees, and the rest of us soon joined them for some shaved ice and smoothies. Nana was in her glory feeding Teddy some of her cool mango drink. Teddy’s eager reaction showed his gratitude.
Colorful murals were abundant.
Mural.
The Washington Monument from the Jefferson Memorial.
At the FDR Memorial.
Colorful canopy.
A short walk brought us to the World War II Memorial in the shadow of the Washington Monument and at the reflecting pool’s eastern end. I spied a group of Amish circling the memorial’s parameter and recognized the older leader. Unfortunately, I was too far away to say hello.
We continued walking west to the Lincoln Memorial for the older grandkids to experience. Before we left the area, we pointed out the impressive yet solemn Vietnam War Memorial from a distance.
By now, everyone was tired, and we headed back to the hotel via three modes of transportation. Some of us took an Uber, while two adventurous teens followed their father to the Metro. Since Teddy needed a nap, his parents chose to push the stroller three miles.
With the day’s heat and humidity, we were glad for the hotel’s air conditioning in which to rest. However, the teenagers all wanted to play cards, a vacation tradition since they were young. We ordered burgers from a local restaurant and reclaimed the hotel’s rooftop. The banter and passing around Teddy put a punctuation mark on a fulfilling day. The games played on, but we seniors called it a night, our hearts full.
As I settled in for the night, I reflected on the day’s interactions. Everyone we met, hotel, restaurant, museum staff, and Uber drivers, were engaging and courteous. They made this country boy feel right at home in the city.
The adults headed for a lighter breakfast than the previous day while the teens slept in. Afterward, they had to be awakened to say goodbye to Teddy and his parents, who had to leave for their return flight. We hugged and kissed and thanked them for making the trip, and then they were gone.
Those that remained returned to the monument area. Our first stop was the Jefferson Memorial. The day was warm again, but a steady east wind made it bearable.
Please click on the photos to enlarge them.
We walked to the Franklin Delano Roosevelt Memorial, which my late father truly enjoyed when I first visited it with him as part of an Honor Flight for World War II veterans. I told the grandkids how their great-grandfather, who used a wheelchair, nearly rose to his feet when he saw the statues of the longest-serving president. Dad even knew the name of Roosevelt’s dog, which also had an oversized bronze.
The Martin Luther King, Jr. Memorial stood a short walk away. We were a few months late for the blooming of the famous cherry trees along the path. The impressive King Memorial faced the Jefferson Memorial across the choppy basin. From there, we strolled to the Korean War Memorial. With its platoon of soldier statues, the setting gives you pause about the futility of war.
It was time to head home. We retraced our steps through the FDR Memorial and back to the van. As we rolled south down the interstate, I enjoyed the commotion of the card games with Nana and teenage grandchildren in the back seats. I was happy to have my son-in-law drive and most grateful for our joyous times together.
We had so much fun that we had already made tentative plans for next year’s get-together. In the meantime, I’ll bask in the joyous afterglow of our little family’s reunion.
Friendships mean a lot to me. I suppose most people feel that way. But as I edge into the last quarter of my life, relationships increase in value. One of the first things I do in the morning is check the obituaries. I see people much younger than me have passed away. Consequently, I sense the urgency of each remaining moment.
As a septuagenarian, I want my friendships to grow more meaningful as I age. That’s especially true for friends separated by geographic distance and borders. The global pandemic and the necessary travel restrictions delayed any notion of crossing into Canada.
Since my wife and I are well into retirement, we visit as many friends as time and money permit. Our time is only constrained by our commitments to gatherings with and transporting our grandchildren as needed and volunteering in church and community activities. We set aside funds for traveling near and far, whether for vacations or visiting friends. We often combine the two.
Grandson Teddy tastes sugar cookies for his first birthday.
Such was the case when our newest grandchild had his first birthday. Knowing we would be in upstate New York for that celebration, I checked the distances to friends in Kitchener/Waterloo, Ontario, Canada. I was happily surprised to learn that it was only three hours of travel time from Rochester, New York. If your friends can’t come to you, you go to them. So, we contacted the three families we know in those twin Ontario cities, and they were all available during the times we proposed.
I chose to drive west along the southern shore of Lake Ontario for multiple reasons. The first was less traffic. The second was opportunities to bird along the drive, and thirdly, my wife and I enjoy driving back roads and passing through small towns and communities. We even drove through a small Amish settlement in northwest New York.
With nice weather, we did our birding, toured Old Fort Niagara, and spent a lovely evening in Niagara Falls, Ontario. The following day it was on to see our friends. We easily found our host’s home thanks to GPS. It was less than a mile from one of our other friends.
Eleanor, Mike, and Dave.
We accepted the invitation to stay with Mike and Eleanor, both retired from medical careers. We knew Mike as a teenager. He was in the church youth group where Neva and I were sponsors, though we were not much older than some of the teens. Mike’s father was our pastor for nearly a dozen years. Mike and Eleanor moved to Kitchener to be close to their only grandchild, daughter, and husband.
Our former pastor, Dave, also moved to an assisted living facility in that area. Dave came for supper that first night. He looked much the same as when he was pastor 45 years ago. Dave is now 93 and still has his dry humor. It was clear, though, that he dearly missed his late wife. We enjoyed our meal of shepherd’s pie and the brief visit with Dave. He and I served as co-editors of the church conference bi-monthly magazine all those years ago when “cut and paste” meant scissors and glue.
Dave and I would meet on a Friday afternoon after I finished my day job to assemble the magazine. We made a good team. He was a respected pastor, and I had a degree in journalism, even though I switched to being a teacher and then a school administrator.
We always took a break for dinner at his home. Dave’s gregarious wife, Mary, always fixed a simple but delicious meal. I enjoyed the lively conversations, too, when Mike and his brothers were there. After the meal, we’d head back to the church and work late into the night to finish laying out the magazine. Dave usually mailed it to the publisher the next day. Those were joyous memories.
The next day we went to the home of our long-time friends, Ken and Ruth. Neva had known Ruth in her youth. She stayed with Ruth and her family while attending a church youth conference in Kitchener when they were both teens. They have kept in touch ever since.
We had much in common, values, hobbies, friends, and travel. We visited them when our children were small. They visited us both in Ohio and Virginia. We even vacationed together in Arizona and Florida.
Ken and Ruth invited us over for lunch with the other couple we know in Waterloo, Don and Gail. They were neighbors across the street, and we joined the triangular friendship when we discovered Don and Gail wintered on the same Florida island we did. We’ve had some beautiful times together. Don and I especially hit it off since we were both volunteer firefighters. We’d swapped crazy fire stories while the wiser women went shopping. We all loved sunrises and sunsets. Those, too, are precious memories.
At the restaurant with Don, Ruth, Ken, and Gail.
None of us are getting younger, and we all have our individual medical issues to deal with and talk about. But most of all, it was pure joy to be together again, even for only a day. As it goes with old friends, the time ticked away too quickly. We toured Don and Gail’s modern condo in uptown Waterloo, then walked around the corner and raised a ruckus around a restaurant table.
All too soon, it was time to go. The combination of the goodbye hugs, kisses, and well wishes made the trip more than worthwhile.
A surprise beneath the bridge. Photo by Bruce Stambaugh
You never know when you’ll find unexpected color. I was birding on the James River Heritage Rail Trail in Lynchburg, Virginia. After crossing the river, you enter Percival’s Island Nature Area.
Wanting closer to the water, I followed a path that led under the bridge. I stopped short when I saw this vivid street graffiti art painted on one of the bridge’s cement supports. It was the dinosaur that caught my eye.
Though I was searching for bird species, this unexpected splash of color was a pleasant surprise.
Roadkill Crossing 
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