The day is gray and humid and threatens rain.
I’m staying indoors.
But I shall find a steak for dinner and gorge myself in beef and potatoes.
On this D-minus-2 day (I leave Wednesday afternoon for London), I’m doing laundry, paying bills, pulling things out of my ‘international travel’ drawer (i.e., electrical adapters, eye mask, and so on), trying to figure out what to do with food that’s in the fridge.
And hugging and cuddling the dog as much as possible.
For years now, I have stayed abed on the Fourth of July, listening to NPR’s annual recitation of the 1776 Declaration of Independence. This never gets old!–
As I do every year, I welled up with tears at the stirring final words. Jefferson’s prose is powerful yet, these 240 years later.
Like my one-time stage partner and some time student Ron Hicks, I’m listening to Sousa today!
Which then got me to thinking about how many dead presidents I’ve visited. (My friend DLJH says that one should always go out of one’s way to visit the grave of a US president. I’ve taken those words to heart.)
- Washington, Mount Vernon
- Jefferson, Monticello
- Jackson, Nashville
- Taylor, Lousville
- both Harrisons, one in Cincy, the other in Indy
- Lincoln, Springfield
- Taft, Arlington
- Wilson, National Cathedral
- Franklin D. Roosevelt, Hyde Park
- Truman, Independence
- Eisenhower, Abeline
- Kennedy, Boston
- Ford, Grand Rapids