For the first time since I can remember, I spent it at memorials. Well, actually, not Memorial Day, but part of the weekend.
My husband's best friend and his girlfriend came into town -- well, to Washington, D.C., where they grew up -- this weekend, and we went to visit them to celebrate birthdays and to see the goings-on in the big city.
We started with a party at a bowling alley:
which was far more fun than I even dreamed, because I-of-the-perpetually-aching-wrists actually bowled and got as many strikes in one night as I have in my entire life, I believe (three). I still didn't score very high, but I have proof that for one entire frame, I was winning:
(That's my "A" there at the bottom.)
On Sunday, we took the Metro into D.C. to see the Rolling Thunder Motorcycle Rally and watched more motorcycles go by than there are people living in my hometown. Or so I was told. I didn't actually count.
That's the State Department behind these bikes.
Here the participating bikers wait to begin the ride:
They rode fairly well spaced apart, but it was a constant stream:
There were other spectators, too:
After the rally, we walked down the Mall past the Washington Monument
to the World War II Memorial and the Vietnam Memorial. I had never seen either one before. The difference was intriguing. I don't have any good pictures of the WWII Memorial without strangers in them, because it was packed, and quite a few of the people were sitting around the fountain in the middle, soaking their feet and talking. It didn't feel disrespectful, but it did feel very summery. The Vietnam Memorial, in stark contrast, was solemn and quiet -- except for a brief moment when a man in a tank top put up his trumpet and played "Taps." I took one picture only:
My kind of tribute. I don't know which name on the wall is yours, but here's to you, man, whoever you are. Cheers.