Sibylla Bostoniensis

I just spent time with family in Alexandria. While there, we did a night time drive around the National Mall for the west coasters who don't think of it as the backyard they don't have to mow. And we went to the National Gallery of Art on the hottest day of the year.

Before we go any further, I want to remind everyone that I spent large chunks of time in Berlin before the wall came down while my parents were living there. I know what an occupied city looks and feels like.

Washington, DC is an occupied city. It was worse than Berlin in some ways because the barricades were so raw and there was no way to get through them, unlike Checkpoint Charlie in Berlin. (True story, I didn't recognize Alexanderplatz in a movie even though the setting felt familiar because I'd never seen it with people in it before.)

There is a tension. I wish I could say that was the worst part. There were National Guard everywhere, armed, and that's a form of intimidation I didn't expect, at least not so flagrantly.

We found a legitimate way to walk on the Capitol Grounds after dark, and look back toward the Potomac, but so much of what I think of as the "natural" view was blocked. It's always fun when west coasters see lightning bugs for the first time. That was a lovely moment with them.

We drove around some more, trying to find a place to stop and let them see the Lincoln Memorial from the front -- bless the cousin who volunteered to drive and was willing to let us off and pick us up -- but it proved to be impossible.

Passing the White House meant the missing East Wing felt like a broken tooth in a familiar smile.

And dear heavens, the projections on the Washington Monument which didn't look as good as the light show at Disney World and the Ferris wheel plonked in the center of the Mall were tacky beyond belief.

Inside the National Gallery, it felt like home. I was thrilled to show off my favorite works and find the George de la Tour painting for my sister (he's her favorite artist). There was a small Mary Cassatt exhibition in a room off of the impressionists which made me very happy.

Outside, I expected the Gestapo to ask me for my papers.

From 1978 to 1989, I spent a decade in Europe. Toward the end of that time, I realized that I was fed up with having to worry that I'd be stopped and not have my ID and proof of support on me. I was careful, but after so many years, it felt heavy for some reason. I visited my folks in Boston and forgot my wallet when I went for a walk and breathed a sigh of relief when I realized that I didn't have to delay everyone and scramble back. If you're not driving, you're not required to have ID on you. (That doesn't mean that it's not a good idea to carry ID, but it's nice that it's not required.) And for the record, I have had the police ask for my papers while living in Europe. Three times in 10 years isn't bad, but, technically, it's not required in the U.S.

On the news, I've seen masked people carrying Confederate Battle flags intimidating the Metro. This is wrong, deeply, deeply wrong.