The backdoor entrance to the museum, because I'm bad like that.
Just kidding, they're doing construction on the front right now so everyone has to enter through these doors.
So I won't be able to give a lot of personal recollection about this museum visit because it was honestly kind of a blur for me. I remember that the day started on a strange note because when I woke up my sister-in-law had posted something about taking their dog, Mr Bear, who is dearly loved by all the members of our family, to the vet because of a health scare. Her post seemed harried and I was concerned but I had an early morning appointment to get my fingerprints taken at an office quite a ways from my house, so while flipping over my concerns in my brain I made my way to the place, got everything done within an hour, and headed home. It was an easy process and I was even able to drop by the office to scan the forms for my personal files, then mail them express in the same morning. I had plans that afternoon to go with my housemate Dan to the Museum of History and honestly I was feeling that this day was turning out to be one hell of an accomplishment. Taking care of business AND taking in some culture? Color me competent.
Still, there was concern over Casey's post in the back of my mind. So when I got back to the house I met up with Dan and we grabbed some coffee, but before we left for the museum I jumped online to check my email. Ben had sent me a message. They'd had to put Mr Bear, my companion for so many long walks and lazy afternoon and strange LES adventures, down. Cancer. Painless and quiet.
But still. God damn it all to hell for taking that dog. Why do we even get dogs when we know, in our rational brains we know, just how painful it will be to say goodbye to them? The answer is this:
I do honestly believe that animals, dogs in particular, possess personalities. But I also think that they reflect the personalities' of their owners. And I think the happy coincidence of Bear being such an amazingly great dog lies somewhere between his own natural proclivity for humanity, his own silly personality, and living with owners who loved him as much as Ben and Casey did. It's easy to remember the good times with this guy because they were almost always good times when he was around. He was just that kind of dog.
Also, fuck cancer.
So that being said, here are some photos of the Vietnamese Museum of History. Although I visited for a couple hours (Dan is a really slow museum-goer) I found that looking at the remnants of those who are gone, that which has slipped out of our lives and into the pages of a history book, is not a great thing to do after learning that a beloved family pet has died and being reminded of how far you are from the people you love, how much you're missing out on while you live a life halfway around the world from them. It is an interesting museum though, very old-school with some funky dioramas and lots of artifacts from millenia of Vietnamese history. Although honestly I spent most of the visit sitting on a bench in front of that large painting of the battle, wishing I was somewhere I was not, wishing for things that weren't.
There are some infographics and placards to give you an idea of what you're looking at.
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