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Apology to Mrs O


Before I even finished writing the previous post, I realized that I should go see something, at least the Liberty Bell since I had seen the Moscow bell which they bragged was so much bigger than ours.  It certainly was, on a scale that makes me wonder if it ever really worked as a bell, and how many people may have died in its manufacture.  Like the pyramids.  Big as a small hut, the Moscow bell was.

So I put on my pointy heeled shoes which are usually comfy to walk in for the first three hours you’re on your feet but after that… I put them on and marched myself east about ten blocks and all through the Independence Hall buildings and museum, and even managed to find and go see the Liberty Bell.  I felt rather clever, being without a complete map.  Deep down, I must not like complete maps.

As I stood in the long hall at the end of the tour I spied the bell out the window.  I hardly think that’s a coincidence, that the two are visible to each other like lovers who cannot be together but can’t be torn asunder either.  Before I figured that out, I felt smart for finding the bell.

So there, Mrs Obama.  I not only moved but I also saw something edifying.

I really like Philadelphia.  I was predisposed to do so, I guess.  At least in my little history of the world, it is the true first city of the U.S..  New York wants to think it’s the center of the universe but what nation did it ever found, huh?

The first Supreme courtroom is marvelous.  I especially like all the old fashioned latches on the exterior doors.  I like understanding how they work, being able to see the mechanism.  The misfitting and not square doors with their uneven oft-painted faces.  I love old doors like that.

I asked about the choice of wall colors.  Apparently it is historically accurate.  I found several of the colors quite hideous,especially that baby poop brown in the Colonial Court Room.  That was all over the ranch when we first moved in, I thought because someone was too cheap to get a real color and just threw a bunch of leftovers in a bucket.  But no, it is apparently a color with historical significance.

I also cannot understand carving all those flowers in the woodwork and not painting them different colors.  How very conflicted those old Quaker carvers must have been, yearning so for flowers but then having them covered in that hideous brown muck color.

Aside from the color issue, and I did like some of the colors, I enjoyed my little mad dash of tourism.


If only I had my photoshop, these were lovely colors: those curtains are teal, I tell you, teal!

That is the kind of stuff I want to see, the little rooms that hatched great big stories.  I don’t mind that some of those buildings are century old replicas and not original.  Even the building of the replica is a story about how the country came to see its history as important, the same way a person finds self-confidence.  It’s all PR, but sometimes PR works on it’s maker too.

All in all a good day.  I love my new hoodie.  I may live in my new hoodie.   I like my hotel a lot, right in Center City, right upstairs from a Rite Aid (which is important when you can’t get packed, forget toothpaste, then realize you also forgot a toothbrush, have nail polish top coat but no nail polish and nails that look like you’ve been using steel wool on them… this hotel really should mention the Rite Aid in their ads.  It is immensely useful.

It’s a pricey place, not the kind of dump I usually try to stay in.  But when you don’t know the city, best to just pay for some security.  There are folded white napkins on the breakfast table.   Breakfast costs almost $20…

OH NO!  I forgot to use my Flyers ticket to get a free Egg McMuffin today!   Such a waste.

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