If I were to whisper

IF I were to decide to take a weekend jaunt to New York in July and IF I were to find myself with spare time during a dual-concert Saturday mid-jaunt, I'd want to take in the whispering gallery at Grand Central Station.

When I led wide-eyed visitors through the Capitol, the stop in the Old House Chamber was often a highlight. I'd steer the group through the entranceway and lead them to the right. If the room wasn't too crowded, I'd position them in the near right corner and describe the room as it was when in daily use. I asked them to imagine socialites crowding the gallery in early September, imagine the humidity and the background chatter. I then asked them to imagine certain political figures in this room. John Quincy Adams, Franklin Pierce, Abraham Lincoln.

Then I'd ask them to look down at the floor. If it worked out properly, they'd stare at a small brass square with Lincoln's name on it. It was a marker for where his desk was located. He stood in the same place the visitors were standing at now.

There was always at least one in the group who'd look up at me with wide eyes.

I'd point out the various statues, promise to lead people over to where a hulking Ira Allen lurked in the far corner and then move the group to one spot on the floor. I'd ask them to form a ring around the small brass circle on the floor and then told them I'd be right back.

After striding across the marble floor, I'd mark out the spot. Look for the strange dark blemish on the white marble square and move a step back and over. Lean over. Start to softly speak.

If it was a full room, it wouldn't work. If I missed the marker, it wouldn't work. But there were a handful of times in which, all of a sudden, the group across the room would look up, then crouch in with excitement.

"Can you guys hear me?" I'd murmur. Heads nodded. "This room is also known as the Whispering Room. There's an old wives' tale about how John Quincy Adams had his desk at just about the spot you're at. They say he used to pretend to be asleep and lie with one ear toward the ground so he could spy on the other side." Hollow chuckles seemed to rise from the spot on the floor over which I was leaning.

I'd smile and hurry back to the group, letting the next tour guide take over the spot.

"Truth is, if John Quincy Adams was laying at his desk, he probably was asleep. Back then, there was no separation of Democrats and Republicans, so there was no need to spy. But the room does, obviously, have this cool little quirk." I'd go on to explain the acoustics, the angle of the arch above and how the nickname took hold.

When it worked, I'd often hear that that was the highlight of the tour.

It would nice to have a new whispering spot to explore.

In other news. Words won't begin to describe the boredom today. Everyone is stir-crazy. Everyone wants to be outside. Everyone is counting down the hours.

As am I. But with phone calls unreturned (bastards) and little to do, counting is a slow, slow process.

That said, my normal sentiment of "I like email" has been modified to "I LOVE EMAIL." HINT HINT.

An old-school Friday Five because there's so little else to do:

1. What made you happy this week?
Technically it's last week, but since it's within the last seven days, I'll count it. I enjoyed the Averi show on Saturday.
2. What made you sad?
Predictability. Both in myself and others.
3. What made you angry?
Nothing really made me "angry," but I've been annoyed the last couple of days. Short-tempered. And I've been writing too much in my notebook about the same, tired subject.
4. What are you looking forward to in the next week?
Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday.
5. What are you not looking forward to?
Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday.