Laurie's light travel travel tips

I'm not at Arlington Cemetery. And it's more than a week after I promised readers I'd be back, and bring a report from these historic, hallowed grounds. I didn't lie; I got sidetracked. And it may be because I had a bad experience there when I first moved to the area. I had gotten lost, and my first off ramp was the street that led me to Arlington Cemetery. Heart racing, I gazed out at what - the Potomoc? The Lincoln Memorial? Breathless, I struggled to take it all in. Postcard-perfect, though I clearly was not; I was not ready, and I would return. So next time. ...So today I'll take you to the Smithsonian National Air & Space Museum , a place that brought out the eight-year-old boy in me. It reminded me of when I was, well, nearly 8 and Man was about to land on the moon. I raced back to my grandmother's house in Alice, Texas, despite the protestations of my nine-year-old friend Stephanie who seemed bored by it all. I remember lying down on my grandmother&

I came to DC for a job in mid-May, from Connecticut by way of South Texas (long story). I had scarcely shaken the bugs out of my luggage from San Antonio when I had to up and leave beautiful Milford, Connecticut again. Some people love the sun, others the mountains, others the beach. I am in the latter category. I was born in Southern California, raised near San Francisco and spent my 20s and 30s on the Pacific Ocean. I moved to Connecticut and of course, had to live by the beach. While I griped about the Sound being puny compared to the Pacific, in retrospect, it sure was blissful breathing in that sea air every morning and seeing the sea gulls squawk overhead. So it was with a bit of trepidation that I agreed to this detour on my life's journey, as a beach lover (always a California girl), who never pined for men in power so much as men in Berkeley cafes, stooped over their Macs thinking up mathematical equations while listening to Bach. I wasn't prepared for the culture