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I was invited to the White House. There was snow all around, the soft yellow light coming from the large lantern chained to cupola over the porch made the white blanket over the lawns inviting... I walked across the snow and was welcomed by three former presidents.
Bill Clinton shook my hand, and the elder Bush led me into the East Wing, tugging at my elbow. His son followed.
I felt very patriotic. It was heady, meeting these men who'd held state secrets, led our nation, had made decisions which had safeguarded my country while I slept in ignorance.
The elder Bush, suddenly looking a little as if he'd stepped into the room from over two centuries ago asked me to come with him.
We walked to the Oval Office. He opened a cabinet and took out a musket. It was a beautiful weapon, fine wood, fine craftsmanship. It had a bayonet on it and looked like it might have been used during the Revolutionary War.
The Secret Service men standing discretely against a wall shifted nervously.
"This belonged to George Washington," he said. "Would you load it for me?"
It seemed I was an expert at such things (though I have never actually handled such a weapon). I knew what to do. In a few moments the gun was ready and I handed it back to the president.
I thought he was going to fire it from the porch, but he'd just gone to the window and held the gun while looking out over the snow.
He turned to us.
"There is something I've always wanted to do..."
He took a book down from a shelf, opened it with practiced ease, and began to read.
It was a poem by George Washington. It described a journey he'd made during the Revolutionary War. As the president read the poem the images of the countryside around our nation's capitol seemed to come alive and I was taken by vividness of the prose.
When he'd finished reading the poem he smiled, and put the book down. He called for one of the Secret Service agents who came and listened for a few moments. The man consulted with a microphone on his wrist, straightened up, picked up the musket, and left through the doors into the night.
A few moments later I heard a horse move off with muffled gait into the darkness.
The president looked at us, smiled and said: "I've always wanted to have someone who'd taken that particular journey come and tell me what it felt like. If you wish, you are welcome to wait for three days and hear it yourselves."
Bill Clinton shook my hand, and the elder Bush led me into the East Wing, tugging at my elbow. His son followed.
I felt very patriotic. It was heady, meeting these men who'd held state secrets, led our nation, had made decisions which had safeguarded my country while I slept in ignorance.
The elder Bush, suddenly looking a little as if he'd stepped into the room from over two centuries ago asked me to come with him.
We walked to the Oval Office. He opened a cabinet and took out a musket. It was a beautiful weapon, fine wood, fine craftsmanship. It had a bayonet on it and looked like it might have been used during the Revolutionary War.
The Secret Service men standing discretely against a wall shifted nervously.
"This belonged to George Washington," he said. "Would you load it for me?"
It seemed I was an expert at such things (though I have never actually handled such a weapon). I knew what to do. In a few moments the gun was ready and I handed it back to the president.
I thought he was going to fire it from the porch, but he'd just gone to the window and held the gun while looking out over the snow.
He turned to us.
"There is something I've always wanted to do..."
He took a book down from a shelf, opened it with practiced ease, and began to read.
It was a poem by George Washington. It described a journey he'd made during the Revolutionary War. As the president read the poem the images of the countryside around our nation's capitol seemed to come alive and I was taken by vividness of the prose.
When he'd finished reading the poem he smiled, and put the book down. He called for one of the Secret Service agents who came and listened for a few moments. The man consulted with a microphone on his wrist, straightened up, picked up the musket, and left through the doors into the night.
A few moments later I heard a horse move off with muffled gait into the darkness.
The president looked at us, smiled and said: "I've always wanted to have someone who'd taken that particular journey come and tell me what it felt like. If you wish, you are welcome to wait for three days and hear it yourselves."
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I woke from the dream, my new wife going to the restroom, a deep sense of patriotism filling me.
It was a wonderfully vivid and unusually emotional dream and I had to write it down.
It was a wonderfully vivid and unusually emotional dream and I had to write it down.
