Pumpkin Puree For My Pal

Ah! I love these early days of Autumn!

While today was nearly summerish here in New England - mid-70's and sunny - yesterday was cloudy, misty, cool, and later in the evening when the temperature crept up from the mid-50's to the 60's, a bit foggy. And I loved it! I love that first brisk fall day, when you walk outside, particularly if it's in the evening, and you get goosebumps. Funny thing about goosebumps - whether you get them from being chilly or being spooked, they leave you with the same feeling. Excited, on edge, a little uncomfortable and maybe a little giddy at the same time. You know, like how some people laugh when they're nervous? I love it.

And today I was just a bit spooked. Last night I was awoken a few times but the hooting of an owl. Owls are cool - I actually saw one perched on a tree branch at twilight once - but this time of year, with the chill in the air, scary movies on television and Halloween approaching, I remembered that owls can be a predictor of death.

So, to protect my family, my friends, my pets, I decided that perhaps a pumpkin sacrifice was in order. Besides, Lissaloo was looking for tips on making her own pumpkin puree...

(Insert scary psycho slasher sound effect here)

"EEEE! EEE! EEEEE!"

First, one must acquire one's victims..I mean, pumpkins! I picked up three sugar pumpkins today. These are the ones best suited for eating, in my opinion, although I have chopped up and roasted carving pumpkins. Just not the huge blue-ribbon, need-a-crane-to-lift pumpkins at the county fair. I just don't have the counter space for those.

Start by cutting them in half. I like to start at the top...

...Then carefully press down firmly to slice through the side.

Then the bottom, and by this time the pumpkin gives up and pretty much splits on half.

Mua-ha-ha-ha-ha!

Next you clean out the entrails, I mean...well, yeah, entrails, but there's no blood. Save those precious seeds! We have plans for them later...Mwah-ha-ha-hahah!

Just reach in and squeeze them out of the stringy stuff and into a bowl for now.

When you've got them pretty much out, scrape the inside of the pumpkin cavity with a spoon - just to get the real tough stringy bits out. Don't work too hard though, because pumpkin flesh is pretty fibrous and stringy anyway.

Next, cut up the pumpkin into manageable pieces - I like them to cook a little quicker, so I cut them into a bout three or four inch chunks. You could actually just place the pumpkin halves, cut side down, on a baking sheet. But you know how I love my knife...

EEEEE! EEEE! EEEEE!

Place them on a baking sheet, and sprinkle a little water over them - maybe like 1/4 cup for this whole sheet. Some people cover in foil to, in effect, steam the pumpkin. But this works too. You could also just boil the pumpkin, but you'll lose a lot of nutrients and flavor in the water.

I guess. I don't know, I just made that up, but it makes sense, don't it? Besides, roasting gives it such nice flavor.

Into a preheated 375 degree oven, for about 30 minutes or until fork tender.

Remove from the oven and let cool until you can handle the pumpkin, then you'll want to remove the flesh from the skin. And as the saying goes, there's more than one way to skin a pumpkin! Scrape the flesh from the skin with a spoon...

Or peel with a vegetable peeler or paring knife.

(Blurry picture - use your imagination here!)

Some pieces you may find that you can peel the skin right off with your fingers. You decide what works best for you when you do yours.

And you should end up with this - this was one and a half pumpkins. I kept one half raw to use in a different recipe, and I made the third one watch the carnage. Mwah-ha-ha-haha!

Next, cut any big pieces into smaller chunks and toss into a food processor. Since we roasted, these pieced are a bit dried out, so we need to add some water - just enough to make the pumpkin into puree. I used 1/4 cup per batch, and this yielded three processing batches.

Puree for twenty seconds or so, scraping down the sides and/or adding more water if necessary, until you've reached the desired consistency.

And Bob's your uncle....

Pumpkin Puree!

Now, do I think there's anything wrong with the canned stuff?

Not really. I've used it many a time. But I think I do prefer the fresh kind. I just like the flavor better.

This freezes beautifully - in plastic zipper bags or if you have one, a Seal-A-Meal or Foodsaver kind of thing.

But I didn't do that today...I have big plans for my pumpkin puree!

Mwah-ha-ha-ha-ha!

A Word (or Five) from Willoughby!

My good friend, Willoughby, from This Stop Willoughby, who always has an interesting challenge for us, has given me five words. My mission? To explain what those five words mean to me. Here goes!

DELICATE:

Why do I think of laundry when I think of the word delicate? Because I'm weird, and I get great joy out of sorting my laundry and coming across those rare articles of clothing in my wardrobe (of mostly jeans, t-shirts and sweatshirts) that give me the opportunity to say...."These things must be done DELicately!" in my best Wicked Witch of The West voice! "Or else you HURT the spell..."

Actually despite my love of hockey, I do have a fondness for things of a delicate nature - I love lilacs, and one of my favorites are the Korean lilacs in my back yard. They bloom later than the typical ones - just as the common and French hybrids on our property are losing their color and scent, the Korean ones open up. The clusters of flowers are tiny, each one less than 1/4 inch in diameter, each cluster a mere two inches long. But the aroma from these delicate little flowers is proof that big things come in small packages.

ROCK

There was a time where the mention of this word meant music - loud, raunchy, shrieking music. And that's all it meant! My first favorite band was Led Zeppelin, their first four albums handed down to me by my sister. After that, it was KISS (I STILL haven't explained the Gene Simmons/Ebenzer Scrooge connection, have I?!?! At this point, you'd be disappointed...It's been so built up!) Then Van Halen, and when David Lee Roth started losing his hair and getting all weird, it was Motley Crue. I listened to pretty much anything else, and the highlight of my Saturday nights was always Headbanger's Ball on MTV.

Now? I think of how funny it is when my co-worker brought her 4 week-old baby to the office for a visit and we all took turns holding him. Even if it wasn't your turn, you still found yourself rocking back and forth. Or I look at one of the rocks on my kitchen windowsill, a keepsake from a long ago trip to Prince Edward Island, where the rocks are worn into smooth ovals by the pounding of the Atlantic. The rocks I find in my daughter's coat pocket when I'm getting ready to throw it in the wash - the results of her many "treasure hunts". Or I think of how here in New England, you can't stick a spoon in the soil without hitting a rock. And how we'd find pieces of shale when we were kids, squinting and staring until we convinced ourselves we had found an arrowhead. Climbing that huge rock at the end of Fairhaven Town Beach on West Island, and wondering if it's really as big as I remember it to be. And how along the highway as I drive home from work the road has been cut through bedrock, and these fast-growing birch trees have sprouted out of seemingly nowhere out of the rock. Or how I used to love watching the Flintstones.

Then I start thinking about rock n roll again.

CELEBRATE

Bobby Orr...flying through the air, parallel to the ice at Boston Garden after scoring the goal that won the Stanley Cup. My Dad, the way he throws his arms up and yells "HEY!" anytime his team scores a goal, hits a home run or gets a touchdown. Wedding receptions, although I hate to say I find them usually incredibly boring (the product of being a bridesmaid too many times, I suppose!), but I love watching the first introduction as husband and wife, the first kiss, the first dance. Pregnancy and the miracle of birth. First smiles, first words, first teeth, first steps...each will be repeated thousands and thousands of times, but the firsts are always a cause for celebration. Thanksgiving and Christmas, for many reasons ranging from the true meaning to the commercial side of each holiday. Every pound I lose, every blog I write, every recipe I make that turns out right. Every tax return that ends in a refund...but not TOO big a refund, because the IRS doesn't pay interest on the money they so kindly hang on to for you! Every day on borrowed time with my Mom and Dad. Family reunions. Every friend I've ever had. Every friend I've ever lost. Yes, even when you "celebrate" the life of someone who has died - whether it was our friends' 20 month old-daughter or a 99 year-old great aunt - I try to make myself celebrate the fact that they lived, they were a part of this world and a part of my life.

OPEN

I love that first spring day when I open up all the windows, even if it means putting on a sweatshirt so I won't freeze, and counting the seconds it takes for all three cats to each pick a windowsill to perch on as they sniff the smells that I can't detect floating in on the breeze. I love being able to open a jar of pickles or applesauce all by myself...and I also love having to ask my husband to do it. I love when a stubborn, afraid of change person like myself decided to be open-minded and it pays off! I love when a friend opens up and confides in me, because I know better than they do that I never share a secret - like being the first to know she's pregnant, or that he just scratched a lottery ticket worth...a lot! I love when I took horseback riding lessons, many years ago, that one summer night when the indoor arena was too stuffy and Joe took us out into the big field where we felt like we were free, like we understood what the term "wide open spaces" meant. I love diners that are open all night, so after a concert or a formal event or a late movie, we can go in and have breakfast at 2:00 A.M. I love watching someone open "THE" gift. Especially when it's from me!

FORM

I used to work for a company that printed business forms. By the time I got there, the need for certain forms were beginning to dwindle. Why would you need carbon paper when there was carbonless? Then why would you need carbonless when these days everyone had a photocopier? Why do you need to print up forms to use as sales receipts when those little machines now print out detailed receipts? Why do you need a customized form when you have a computer and can design and print them as needed? Then came the internet....and sales of printed checks decreased. Eventually the big presses and collators, while not totally obsolete, were vaguely beginning to resemble dinosaurs. Now the money was in barcodes and labels, and we only needed a couple guys sitting at a computer to handle most of that work.

But back in the day, the guys in our plant were not only highly skilled workers, they were at a level in their careers that took years of learning to attain. You didn't just walk in and land a job running a press, you had to apprentice. Not only could one little mistake cost the company a fortune and waste a lot of resources, it was so easy to lose a finger, a hand or worse. There was a precise technical side to the job as well as a bit of an artistic side. They could see subtle difference in color that my eyes could not pick up. And when there was a market, there was money to be made.

When I read that I had been assigned the word "Form", the first thought that came into my mind was a story that had been passed around often when I worked for this company. It happened long before I entered the working world, although the pressman and the president of the company were still there when I came to work for them ten years later. It was early 1978, and anyone who lived in New England at the time can probably guess where I'm going with this one - we got hit with a blizzard in early February.

I was 12 going on 13, and the night it hit my mother, sister and I were out there every hour on the hour trying to keep the end of the driveway reasonably clear. My dad drove a truck for a living, and while he usually made it home by 8:30 or so, here it was 10:00 P.M. and he was still out there. We didn't worry about clearing the driveway, just the huge snowbank that kept appearing at the end where the plows were piling up the snow. Shortly after 10:00, my dad called - he was stuck at a school in Southborough, normally a twenty-minute ride from here, but tonight, inaccessible. His tractor-trailer was stuck on Route 9 and the State police had rounded up him and every other stranded motorist and brought them to various shelters. Two days later, he pulled into our driveway! By then, school had already been canceled and the following week was February vacation, so us kids were ecstatic! In our neck of the woods as well as many others, roads were closed unless it was an emergency. Friends across town owned a horse and took him out on deserted streets that were usually crowded with cars. We built forts made out of snow that were ten feet high, until a little boy a few towns over was killed when his fort collapsed and he suffocated. Then we built snowmen, had snowball fights, we made snow ice cream and by Thursday we had finally found my sister's Camaro. It was buried so deep, we started thinking it was just another snowbank! In fact, I'm sure we climbed it at one point!

Ten miles away, in the building where I would one day work, a pressman named Dan was extremely busy. He had stayed late the day the storm hit to finish up a job, but by the time he decided to go home, it was impossible to do so, so he slept on the couch in the office and ate and drank his way through the vending machines. The next day, a friend or relative came and got him in his massive truck and brought him home. He no sooner got home when the phone rang. Could he go back to the plant? The company got the contract to print all the forms the state needed to deal with the emergency, forms needed for claimants to request the federal money that was pouring in to deal with what had become a natural disaster. Dan not only lived closer than any of the other experienced workers, but over the years Dan knew how to run virtually every piece of equipment in the plant - from burning negatives in the composition room, to running a press to collating to packaging and printing labels for the boxes. Dan was willing, but said it took him six hours to travel the nine miles to his house. No problem, the State Police said they'd get you there safely and back again. And they did. Via snowmobile. And Dan worked the whole week, eating, sleeping, showering as needed, being joined a couple days later by some other brave souls...or guys who were sick of being cooped up with their wives and kids! And in the end, the forms were printed, and reprinted as needed, and claims were filed and reports were made.

The following week, when roads started to open and people slowly started returning to their jobs, a very important form was printed in the accounting office, where I would some day work. It was one of the 85 paychecks that got printed, and it had Dan's name on it. The president of the company laughed when he signed it. Dan had dutifully punched in and out for every break, every meal, every nap, but in the end he had still earned not only overtime, but double-overtime, and his check was even bigger than the president's. It was one of his favorite stories to tell. And my favorite one to hear!

So, apparently, when I think of the word "Form" I think of childhood and blizzards and printing presses and paychecks.

Makes perfect sense to me!

Snippets

I started writing these down - you know, those little snippets of conversation that somehow strike you as hilarious, and you swear to yourself "I'll never forget that one!"

The next day, it's gone.

It's A Bird....

We were coming back from Providence, driving on Route 146, and a large, long-legged, long necked bird flies across the highway - high enough so that it's in no danger of getting hit, but low enough that we could see it in great detail.

MrM: "Look at that cool bird!"

Me: "Oh, cool! It's a heron"

MrM: "It looks like a pelican."

Me: "It's a heron - I'm not sure exactly what kind"

MrM, realizing he has misidentified the species: "That's why I said it looks like a pelican...I didn't say it was a pelican"

Me: "Looks even more like a heron"

(Note: it looked nothing like a pelican. Of course, pelicans look like pterodactyls to me.)

--------------------------------------------------
The Comedienne:

Punkin is learning all about comedy.

Me: Knock, Knock!

Punkin: Who's there?

Me: Banana

Punkin: Banana who?

Me: Knock knock!

Punkin: Who's there?

Me: BANANA!

Punkin: Banana who??

Me: KNOCK KNOCK!

Punkin: WHO'S THERE?!?!

Me: Orange!

Punkin: Orange who?

Me: "Orange ya glad I didn't say BANANA again!"

(Gratuitous laughter ensues)

Punkin: Knock Knock!

Me: Who's there?

Punkin: Apple!

Me: Apple who?

Punkin: Apple-orange you glad I didn't say banana!

------------------------------

Kitchen talk.

Punkin: "Daddy's a boy, you know."

Me: (wondering where she's going with this) "Yes, Daddy's a grown-up boy, so he's a man"

Punkin: "He's not a girl"

Me: "No, he's not. You're right!"

Punkin: "Girls know how to cook"

Me: (trying not to laugh) "Well, some boys cook. Like in the cooking shows - Emeril, Tyler, Bobby...they all cook! And some girls don't cook, like Grandma. Anyone can cook, if they want to!"

Punkin: "Not Daddy..."

------------------------------------------------------------------

Magic Shoes, More Planes and A Very Special Kitchen

So! Where were we?

Oh yes, I was telling you about our Labor Day Weekend in Washington DC. Then vacation ended, (pre)school started, computer died....but we're back in business! Old Mac is sitting in a box...new Mac is purring happily next to me, like a warm fuzzy kitten. A kitten named Benicio. Who cost us $3,000. Who has not betrayed me...yet.

ANYWAY! Labor Day weekend we had big plans for Sunday - up early, into the car and headed towards the mall (the National Mall, not a shopping mall), off to revisit the various monuments we had seen before, and perhaps add in a couple new ones. But there was one problem. No place to park.

We drove around and around and around, and every parking spot was taken. It really didn't look like there were a whole lot of people out and about, but there sure were a lot of cars. Did I mention my husband is not a patient man? The tension rose with every turn.

"THIS IS *#&@$^%# RIDICULOUS!!!!"

Trying to lighten up the situation, I tried making jokes - like how every since Ted Kennedy died, we Bay Staters get no respect. That got a little smile. Then, since we love our movie quotes, I took one from one of our favorite movies, Drop Dead Gorgeous...

"You'd think they'd have the parking lot of America to go along with the Mall of America!"

Slightly out of context, but it got me a laugh. And finally, he decided to drop mother and daughter off outside the Museum of Natural History, drive back to the hotel to drop off the car and walk back (the four blocks - did I mention that? An hour of looking for a parking spot and we could have just walked....) and catch up with us later. It would give him time to cool off, time to cheer up my now grumpy daughter and my give my ears a break for the muttering of swears under someone's breathe.

So, we walked around and to cheer up my daughter, I gave her my camera. We have twenty-seven pictures of this pigeon...

...a few of this shadow, in various poses...

...clouds in the sky, several pairs of feet that have no idea they were being photographed, a rock, a car (one that had FOUND a parking spot), and an occasional diamond in the rough like this one, which I think is actually kind of neat!

We walked next door to a sculpture garden, and I let her take of her shoes and dip her feet into the water near the fountain.

Within twenty minutes, Steve had returned, in a much better mood, and we headed into the Museum of Natural History.

There's a lot of neat stuff here. A statue from Easter Island (which every kid wanted their picture taken with, as they asked "Dum-dum" to give them some "Gum-gum" (thank you, Night at the Museum), a whole lot of dinosaur bones, a whole lot of stuffed animals. Stuffed like in a taxidermy kind of way, I mean.

A big rock called the Hope Diamond.

We had a good time, but my four year old was getting a bit cranky. Then we lost Daddy, whose cell phone died. Oh, it was fun. And apparently, all my fault.

So we stopped for a snack and a drink, then, refreshed and relaxed, headed over to the Museum of American History, which I had never been to before. The very first thing we headed towards was something to cheer up our daughter....

"Daddy? Can we buy them?"

Nice try. I asked that about the Hope Diamond and next thing I knew he was no where to be found.

This place had something for everyone - Ruby Slippers for our munchkin, Star Wars prop for Steve...

And while Steve took our little one into the gift shop, I got to spend some quality time with an exhibit that made me do this...

Ta da!

Yes, Julia Child's kitchen!

I remember thinking, "Oh WOW! This will make for a GREAT blog when I get back!" A few days later, I wasn't so enthusiastic about blogging, because A.) My photos didn't come out all that well, thanks to the plexiglass and the fact that I only know the basics about using my husband's camera, and B.) Someone beat me to it, with a wonderful post about her visit to Julia's Kitchen! Make sure you take a moment to pop on over to Always Order Dessert to read about Alejandra's visit to Washington, and while you're at it, fall in love with her blog like I did a while back. Thank you, Google gods! Who knew that a search for healthy homemade bagels wold lead me to such a great blog.

Anyway, after shoving several people out of my way (if Ted Kennedy were still here, I probably would have been in there tinkering with all those gadgets...no respect, I tell ya...)

Here's the view from the other side....

I had not yet seen Julie & Julia - although we did have a girls' night out last weekend and I finally got to see it (loved it, too!) but Julia has always been a favorite of mine, even before I started cooking. My mom was into the cooking shows, long before the invention of Food Network, and I happily watched along with her. It was nice to see an old friend receive the honor of being acknowledged as such an important part of our history. This stop was definitely all mine!

Last stop of the day was at the National Air & Space Museum.

You-know-who has a thing for planes! This was my third time here, and mother and daughter were both getting a bit cranky, tired, hungry while husband skipped around the museum....To alleviate the stress, I once again gave Grace my camera.

I have no idea who this lady is...

But thank you for playing along! I just love friendly people...

Later, Grace modeled her new shoes for us.

"Click. Click. Click. There's no place like home..."

The next morning, we loaded up the car, said goodbye to the (not so) Cowardly Lions in front of the hotel and bid adieu to Washington DC

She wore those slippers all the way back to Massachusetts!

Farewell for now, Washington! We'll be back, I'm sure!

We Interrupt This Blog....

Sigh. Guess which one I am?





I used to love those "Hi. I'm a Mac" commercials.

The I'm A Mac guy is a cutie-patootie, so I kind of felt like I was somehow cool to be associated with him by owning a Mac. You know, the kind that rarely, if ever, are affected by those nasty viruses floating around. To further fuel my delusions of coolness, I also just recently discovered Facebook, and was having fun over there...I always thought I was too old for Facebook (or "FB", as we regulars call it) but I seem to be fitting in nicely! I even post more than my ultra cool, 24 year old niece. And my also ultra cool 22 year old nephew signed up after I did...probably copying me! Of course, he still hasn't responded to my friendship request... hmmmm. How you say... WTF???


Well, come to find out, I'm as uncool as I originally suspected. I guess Mac ain't exactly interested in middle-aged women, cuz mine up and left me! Yep, crashed Saturday and we got the bad news today - the relationship with this particular Mac, my beloved G5, is over. He's gone. He's never coming back. Like my brother-in-law said of Johnny Damon when he signed with the Yankees, "He's dead to me".




I'm going to wheel PC to the nearest pub to drown my sorrows (and complain that I have no idea when I will be able to update my blog again, since all my photos are on a back up file that I have nothing to restore to at the moment). PC and I have always remained friends, co-workers even, so who knows where this will go.

We will be looking at the newer Macs this weekend.... then again, PC is certainly a cheaper date, and now that I'm looking at him, he's kinda cute! ;) Besides, for my little blog, my recipes and family photos, what do I need with a hot looking, fully loaded, fun loving Mac? Maybe me and PC are meant to be together...

Unless, of course, the new Mac looks like this....



In that case, I'll be seeing you at the office, PC!

(Note to self: While computerless, GO TO GYM. This new Mac looks pretty hot - don't want him to lose interest if he does indeed move in with us)

So folks, if you don't see me around much in the next few days, you now know why! I can't access FB at work, and can only do quickie little updates on my blog from there...but rest assured, I will be lurking and keeping my eye on you!

Have fun! And wish me luck! ;)

A Monumental City - Part I

We spent this past Labor Day weekend in a place we've visited often, Washington, D.C.

As you probably already know, we like road trips and lucky for us Washington is a 7 to 8 hour ride (including bathroom breaks and other stops), which makes it a pretty good weekend getaway for us.  We love Washington.  We're both history buffs, both love architecture and public art, and we both love the fact that all the museums, including the National Zoo, are FREE!   Our first time there, we thought the Smithsonian was one big museum...it's actually several, including the Air & Space Museum, The Museum of Natural History and the Museum of American History, all walking distance from the big strip of grass and reflecting pool known as the National Mall.

We've been there four times now, and still have not seen everything!  I've never actually been into the Holocaust Museum, nor have we been to the zoo or even the Law Enforcement Memorial, where names of police officers killed in the line of duty, including someone my family knew, are engraved.  Little by little, we're checking those sights off our list.  Funny though, even though we revisited a few places we had already seen, I actually didn't take many photos this time, so some of what you are about to see was from our previous trips.

Arlington National Cemetery is across the river, and it is definitely a must-see, in my opinion.  Rows upon rows of white markers, the Tomb of The Unknowns, the changing of the guard - all of these will leave an impression on you.   Between rows of soldiers laid to rest are a few other memorials, such as a memorial to the Challenger astronauts, and one to those who died when their helicopters crashed during an attempt rescue the hostages in Iran just before Reagan was elected.   Only thing is, I feel weird taking pictures there.  I take pictures at a lot of cemeteries - after all, genealogy is a hobby of mine and I feel photos are less intrusive than rubbings, but somehow at Arlington it feels wrong.   Like I'm capitalizing on those who lay there.

One of the most memorable scenes in American military history is depicted near the entrance to Arlington, the U.S. Marine Corps Memorial....

The scale of it was surprisingly large to us....I never thought it was this big!

Back in D.C., one of the landmarks you refer to often to figure out where you are is the Washington Monument.  Beyond it is the U.S. Capital, another important point of reference when you're strolling around (which, of course, I have no picture of....fortunately, we'll probably be going there again!)

You can barely see it here, but between the Washington Memorial and the reflecting pond that leads up to the Lincoln Memorial is the World War II Memorial.

As far as war memorials go, it is the most recent one built in Washington.  I have mixed feelings about it.  On one hand, do I say what I truly feel about it? Or will that come off as being unpatriotic?  

I don't hate it, but perhaps because my dad and uncles served during World War II, I'm more particular about what I think it should have been.   And of course, did I build it? Nope. Did I pay for it? Nope.  Do I make a living designing these things or know anything at all about art?  Except for "knowing what I like", no, I really don't know squat.  I will say this - I am grateful and happy that something was built while there were still World War II veterans alive and able to visit it.  And the sheer scale of it - it's huge - is by all means appropriate.

This is one side - the structure in the middle represents the Atlantic side of the war, and there is a smaller monument for every state...

 

This is the Pacific half...

And we all know by now, my Dad served in the China-Burma-India theater, and that slab of stone is what represents it.  I kind of feel that each theater, each battle, deserves it's own memorial.  One that tells the story, tells you how many soldiers died, how many civilians.  But I guess that would be tough to do.  It would probably take up the whole mall, and then some, to give each story it's due.  One thing that did touch me, was those three kids there.  Their grandparents were from Burma originally, and it was touching to see their reaction to seeing the name "Burma" - a country they had never visited and probably never will - carved into stone.  They were so excited to see it!  "Here it is! Here it is!" they shouted as they ran over to it, smiles on their faces as bright as the sunshine.

Anyway, despite the sheer size of the monument, I was a little disappointed.  Its very cold and gray.  

Not that I wanted some neon fiberglass structure, but this monument is actually what some would consider fascist architecture.  It's very generic-looking, and completely symmetrical.  It's something Hitler would have commissioned, and that bothers me.  Also when you compare it to some of the other war memorials, well...you'll see exactly what I mean...

For example, one of the monuments that surprised me the most was this one - the Korean War Memorial.  As you approach it, it sort of peeks out of a cluster of trees, and you're not exactly sure what exactly you're walking towards.

The closer you get, ghost-like statues of soldiers appear.

Alongside them is a granite wall, with faces of lost soldiers etched in them as if each one was taken from a photograph.  It's eerie to walk by, look each one in the eye, then see your own reflection on the gleaming stone.

As the sun sets, the soldiers become even more ghost-like in appearance.  To the naked eye, they actually seem to glow a little bit more than they do in this photo...

It's truly haunting.  And I think that's what a war memorial should be.

The other well-known war memorial is, of course, the Vietnam Memorial.  If you're as old as I am, you might recall that this design was met with a huge amount of criticism when first chosen.  People thought it was too boring.  A wall, with thousands of names engraved on it?  What the heck is that?  People probably thought the statue of three soldiers would be the main attraction.

It is a beautiful piece of art.

On our first approach several years ago, we might have thought the same thing...but only for a moment.

It starts out kind of like the war did.  A few inches high, a few names etched in stone. 

At this point, you still hear idle chatter among those people visiting it for the first time.  But as you make your way along the wall, it grows higher.  As the years pass, there are more and more names added to it.

And chances are, you will come across someone who was there, or someone who lost a son, a brother, a father, uncle, or cousin.

You realize that while they are simply names etched in stone to you, other people come here to remember someone who died.

Tucked safely into ziploc bags or pocket protectors are fliers telling you that today would have been someone's birthday, or that someone was killed in action 3o-something years ago today.  Faces to go with those names, and the heartache of realizing that somewhere out here in the real world, someone misses this person.

We met someone here a couple years ago, looked for the name of his army buddy, Charles E. Hosking, Jr. who was killed in Vietnam.  It was the first time this veteran had been to the wall, visiting here with his son,  and he really wanted to find his friend's name and take a picture for his scrapbook.  Come to find out, they were originally from Gloucester, MA, so we chatted about home, and he told us about his friend.  One of the things that always bothered me about my visits to the wall, was that I would try to memorize names, so I could somehow honor them in my own way.  But since I have no real connection to anyone who died there - my cousins all came home, safe and sound, thank goodness - by the time we walk away I have usually forgotten.  

But here's what I can tell you about Charles E. Hosking, Jr.  His nickname was "Snake".  He swore a lot, and was a real hell-raiser, according to his friend.  He died when he threw himself on a grenade that had been launched into a foxhole.  He was the only one who had died that day in that foxhole, having given his life to save his brothers in arms.   His name is the last one, fifth row down, on the section to the left.

My husband took that photo three years ago and emailed it to the veteran's son.  And three years later, I visited Charles "Snake" Hosking Jr. at the wall.  In honor of him, and in honor of his friend.  I may have never known you, but I will never forget your sacrifice.

And even here, as you leave the wall, and the names begin to dwindle, you are still deeply affected.  Even here, it is still silent as you pass by.  What started out being criticized as an impersonal monument is perhaps one of the most touching of all.

Another tribute to the Vietnam War is the Nurse's statue.  I've been by here a few times, and often flowers are tucked into the statue by those who have passed by.

 As you head back to the mall to catch the sunset, you look at the Lincoln Memorial and the Washington Memorial in a different light.

You realize what we as a nation have sacrificed, but also how far we've come.  No matter what your political views are, or what you feel about the economy, the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, or the various social issues that tend to divide us, you walk away with a sense of pride.   And the feeling that whatever difficult times may lie ahead, we can overcome them.