…8-month old babies are shockingly heavy. This after a day of carting him around sans stroller (which is in the car, but was buried underneath stuff in the trunk for most of the day, I think) – through many galleries of the National Gallery (through which we were given a very informative personal tour of several significant pieces by a docent who’s also an author of Michael’s), and then around and about Rosslyn, where Hilary and Dad live and where we are staying for the next few days. Boy, all that walking really wore the kid out. Too bad.

So he’s sleeping, Joseph’s getting there, Michael took the Metro across the river to the Nationals game, and after an hour, I finally figured out that this hotel internet connection isn’t one of the dozen wireless sources that came up on my computer,  but broadband.

I’ve been to many of the major art galleries east of the Mississippi, and the National Gallery remains my favorite, perhaps because I have such strong, enduring memories of going there as a child, the year we lived here when my dad was working for the Dept of the Interior. Like most young girls, the Impressionists made the strongest impression on me, and today when we wandered into the gift shop and I saw the little prints of the Renoirs, it took me right back in time, too many years ago to count, to the occasions on which my mother would purchase one for me after one of our visits.

And tomorrow? Who knows what tomorrow will bring…