Not a single dadgum flower. Not a single one. We left Norfolk behind this morning, and as I watched the fluffy pink cherry blossoms in our neighborhood blowing in the wind, I thought giddily of the beauty that awaited in Washington, D.C.
Then we got stuck in holiday traffic for SIX HOURS—twice as long as the route usually takes. We were prepared for rain, prepared for cold, windy weather, prepared to miss the peak. But with the peak bloom (when 70% of the buds are open) scheduled for next weekend, we figured SOMETHING would be blooming. NOPE. Six hours of traffic with bored and screaming kids and NOT A BLOOMIN THING.
We drove around the Tidal Basin to a parking area, realizing slowly that the trees were waaaaaay later than advertised. Chris parked, I snuggly-pouched Eloise, and Isaac ran ahead as we trekked back over to the festival area.
In the time it took us to walk there, all the food booths closed. The musicians called it quits. So there we were: no food, no flowers, no ambiance AT ALL, just the stark Washington Monument towering over us, as bare as the trees.
Isaac and Chris kicked around a soccer ball. Eloise and I found one clump of pink buds. I would guess from our Japanese neighborhood these trees are at least 10 days to two weeks from being gorgeous. Minimum. Sigh.
Both kids cried and cried on our way to the hotel. “It is hours past my bedtime!” Wailed Eloise. “I don’t want to stay in a hotel! I want to go hooooome!” Wailed Isaac. “Are you sure this is the right direction?” Wailed Chris. “I haven’t had any dinner!” Wailed Mari. Sigh.
At 9:30pm, both kids in bed, Chris and I finally had some sushi, donuts and twist-cap wine for dinner.