Sunday and Monday in DC

Hello,
Sunday morning it was off to the National Cathedral for church. I even remembered it from a visit 12 years ago. At that time after church we took a tour of the facility. Today we had other things on the agenda.

The organ seemed so muddy with the melody of hymns well hidden in the rolling sound. It is a very live building. Good thing some hymns were familiar or that I can read some music.

In the afternoon it was off to the new house to unpack, and assemble some items. Lexi even took a nap in her new surroundings.

Monday morning I rode the bus to make the trip back to the house because the rest went to work and daycare. Sarah had talked me through the bus basics and armed me with a city map as well as the bus schedule. I marched down to the stop, saw the bus number 8 and hopped on. My paper metro card would not work on the bus. The driver informed me, “It is only for the metro. Instead you need the plastic one here.”
He had already started up. “Oh no what do I do?” I wondered.
He mentioned, “It costs $1.35 to ride.” And after a beat he added, “Sixty cents for seniors.”

“I have money. Am I a senior?” I asked.

He just shrugged his shoulders.

“You do not have to know everything.” I laughed and said, “I am 62, does that make me a senior?” (Later I remembered that I am only 61, but I will be 62 in three months.)

“Yes,” he grinned. I found my money, put it in the slot, and went back to sit down.
I pulled out my bus schedule and saw some of the streets that I thought should be there. Schedules here are not as precise as those I was accustomed to in Slovakia. After a while I could not see any more streets that I expected. I asked the woman ahead of me if I was on the right bus. She looked at my schedule and said, “You’re on the wrong bus.”

Immediately she pulled the stop request line even though the bus was stopped at a traffic light. She the called out to the driver, “Wait, she is on the wrong bus.”
I went up and told him where I wanted to go, he thought a minute and said, “You cross the street and go to the bus stop down there. 4F will stop and he will help you.”

With my heart pumping a bit I hurried across the street to wait for the proper bus. After about 20 minutes it came. I got on but before I put my money in the slot I asked the driver if he could help me get where I wanted to go since I had gotten on the wrong bus. He considered a bit and he said, “Yes, I can do that. You should get off at a stop and you can catch the right bus.” I had gotten on 8G and I should have been on 8H. “Because you have already paid you do not have to pay again.”
The second bus driver told me which was my stop and pointed out the proper bus stop since it was around to the side. It took quite a while, but I got there. What a gift to be able to speak to the bus drivers. They could understand me and I could understand them. No Slovak here.

Helpful people are everywhere.

Paula