In 1864, the U.S. government bought Robert E. Lee's family property at an Arlington tax auction for the purpose of a new national cemetery.

Expansion has continued, in different ways, in the years since. Thanks to various generous papers and Google News Archives, we can watch the expansion — through initial efforts, cultural barriers, wars of great human scale, and simple passage of time. Memorial Day honors those who died in service, and Arlington holds our veterans at large and their spouses, including several of my grandparents. But down the highway and over the hill from my apartment, the Memorial ceremonies are the cemetery's heart today. The texts show how freedom's work goes on.

This post is a long one. I hope you have time to read the stories.

1872, the first free piece I can find: "Decoration Day in Arlington was observed with the customary scrupulousness, and green garlands and bright flowers were strewn without limit on the graves of the heroic men who fell in the defence of their country and the country's flag. There was an imposing display at the Arlington Cemetery, which is perhaps the largest soldiers' burying ground in the United States and the usual interesting services were held. It may be an interesting fact to many, that here where so many confederate dead are coffined side by side with Union soldiers, there was no distinction observed. The floral tributes were paid to all alike. But at the same time those we hold dear in our hearts are only the ones who held their country's honor sacred. [This blog: Two meanings in this line. But which one?]

'On fame's eternal camping ground
Their silent tents are spread,
And Glory guards with solemn round
The bivouac for the dead.' "

1879: "The present Gen Lee, son of the distinguished Confederate General, has no desire to disturb the remains of the dead Union soldiers. He only wished to establish his property rights. From this it is probable the government may take the property, or that part of it, comprising the cemetery, at a fair valuation."

1882: "At Arlington, the procession, preceded by the marine band, halted before the tomb of the unknown and the band played a dirge. … Decoration Day is a bank and business holiday here, but the number of people in the streets increased rather than lessened, and the air is filled with martial music and the streets are bright with uniforms, banners and floral decorations on their way to the resting places of our honored soldier dead. The air is delightful, and an unusually elaborate programme has been laid out for the day's services."

1892: "WASHINGTON, May 31. — General Hastings made the principal oration at Arlington cemetery yesterday… 'Twenty-seven years have passed since the bugle of peace sounded the recall and the armies of Grant and Lee marched back to their homes and to peaceful citizenship. Twenty-seven times have these graves been embalmed in the impartial snows of winter and touched into beauty by the dewy fingers of spring, and as often have the living paid tribute of love and devotion, which today we renew."

1899: "The bodies of the Spanish war dead were brought to New York last week by the steamer Crook, in order that they might rest forever in the soil of their native land. … The Government departments and the Federal courts were all closed at noon, and the flags over the Government buildings, the barracks, navy yard and the forts along the Potomac were half-masted."

1909: "Since the first informal memorial day the population of America's greatest city of the dead has increased to more than 19,000, and an average of 300, almost all of whom are veterans of the Civil war, are buried here every year. A project is now before congress to devote a considerable sum to the erection at Arlington of a great memorial amphitheater…"

1914: "A terrific thunder storm broke over Arlington National Cemetery yesterday while President Wilson was addressing a great crowd gathered for the unveiling of the monument erected there to the Confederate dead. Torrents of wind-driven rain drenched the Blue and Gray veterans, women and children before they could seek shelter and then there was a wild dash for automobiles and trolley cars…"

1929: "A place has been reserved for humble Jim Parks in the great Valhalla, where America's distinguished dead lie. … He knew the 1,100-acre reservation when it was an antebellum plantation. He was a slave here, the property of George Washington Parke Custis, the grandson of Martha Washington and adopted son of George Washington. Then he served Robert E. Lee."

(more…)

The Secret in Their Eyes. Go see it. El Secreto de Sus Ojos, Oscar's Best Foreign-Language Film this year. Meghan and I saw it last week, and we walked out nearly speechless. The ending was surprising but not shocking, and it was the movie as a whole that was so overwhelming.

It was the best movie I'd seen in a movie theater in years, since Up or even Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. It was one of the best films I'd seen anywhere in my life, Top 50 for sure. It was also, undoubtedly, the best Law and Order en Español ever. Argentina — a job well done.

I thought the first I read of this movie was from R. Ebert. "The actress Soledad Villamil is, forgive me, my idea of a woman," he wrote. Later:

"The Secret in Their Eyes" is a rebuke to formula screenplays. We grow to know the characters, and the story pays due respect to their complexities and needs. There is always the sense that they exist in the now and not at some point along a predetermined continuum. Sometimes I watch a film unspool like a tape measure, and I can sense how far we are from the end. Sometimes my imagination is led to live right along with it.

But then I thought the first I read was from The New Yorker. The movie at play "is a finely wrought, labyrinthine entertainment whose corners and passageways will be discussed by moviegoers for hours afterward as they exit into the cool night air," David Denby penned. Later for him: "From scene to scene, the movie has an enormously vital swing to it."

But that edition still sat on my coffee table last night, unread. The NYT review? Not that I remember. Manohla, why so heartless? Her review left me disagreeing in a dozen different ways. To each one's own, fine.

So, I don't know what led me to this movie. I just can tell you, after the initial post-theater, awkwardly smiling and speechless minutes passed, Meghan and I spent the next couple hours in a bar on a nearby corner, talking about the movie, directly and indirectly. It would've been easy to head into the Washington night, happy, but why? So much to say.

Days ago, looking for Memorial Day weekend plans, a few minutes of Googling turned up all kinds of potential goodness in Delaplane, Va.

We took to the highway today. Goodness was had. We stopped first at Barrel Oak, possibly my new favorite Virginia winery. Who knew land just off I-66 could be so peaceful? Just as importantly, Barrel Oak had all kinds of winning wine tastes. I may have purchased five bottles.

The winery was celebrating its second anniversary, and crowds grew bigger as we tasted and ate. But the staff had all running smoothly, and everyone was in a good mood. Between the broad porch and all the dogs in attendance, the occasional clouds didn't matter a bit.

And about that food. On Saturdays, Local Sixfortyseven comes to the winery. Local Sixfortyseven is Derek and Amanda Luhowiak's food cart.

Local… organic… amazing.

The Post touted their burgers as some of the area's best, and we were overjoyed to find the Post dead on. My order came up in minutes, and it became an instant classic on my list of top burgers. Somehow, some way, it gave Ray's Hell Burger a run for its money in my heart. Cooked to perfection. At this hour — the Local Sixfortyseven burger is winning.

Did Amanda know what was coming? No. Neither did Sheri or I. But we believed. Then we ate our burgers and dogs and cole slaw and melt-everywhere chocolate chunk cookies at a picnic table next to the vines.

Then we went inside, downstairs to see the production facilities. We saw giant Wizard of Oz-style doors, and a kind manager appeared out of nowhere to take us behind closed doors and show us a barrel room. She explained their plans for the place — big — and we thanked her.

From there, it was up the road to Delaplane Cellars, right on Route 17 and even younger than Barrel Oak. Only open since winter, Delaplane had live music going and beautiful windows and a porch overlooking the valley. This stop was a quick one, but I acquired two more bottles.

Were we in a hurry? No. Were we excited for our next stop? Yes. Were we headed to the annual Delaplane Strawberry Festival? You bet your strawberries we were. What did we do there? We went on a hayride, my first since kindergarten. We ate strawberries and whipped cream poured over pound cake. We watched kids throw rocks into puddles.

We petted animals. We met a park ranger. I walked on stilts, with the help of a man with 40 years of stilt-walking experience, and Sheri got a picture. Amanda bought about two million strawberries to take home.

Leaving work late Friday, after strange hours where no one else was in my wing of the building, I stopped by new colleague Heather's office.

We talked about weekend plans — happy anniversary to her and her husband! — and she asked me which wineries I was visiting. Because, she said, "have you ever been to Barrel Oak?" She endorsed it whole-heartedly. On a separate topic, she gave me a copy of a book named The Art of Possibility. On a separate topic, but apparently not entirely.

As Memorial Day weekend begins and the Rolling Thunder motorcycles begin to pick up outside my apartment, my favorite read is this series of short Fast Company essays from designer Steve McCallion. He looks at the mattress sale-ization of Memorial Day and, for modern times and coming generations, how we might begin to recapture the day's past meaning in society and find ways to keep it in clear status. The ideas at which he arrives are small, he admits. But he sees them as thought-starters, and I appreciate them. A valuable American exercise here.

Part 1:

In this era of convenience and instant gratification — when mobile screens hold more interest than parades; when regulations are needed to prevent texting while driving; when TV idols are created in the time it takes to sing a song — it's difficult for any brand to break through the noise and be relevant. For Memorial Day, it's particularly hard because it requires us to stop and take the time to remember.

So what's the role of unity and sacrifice in a world obsessed with instant gratification? Can we make Memorial Day relevant again?

Part 2:

Our drive for convenience has also compromised an opportunity to reinforce another key component of the American promise: unity. With increasingly divisive talk throughout the country, it's difficult to remember that unity is fundamental to the American promise. Regardless of how you feel about war, Memorial Day is a missed opportunity to bring America together….

Meaning is not about turning back the clock, it's about creating relevance, and a powerful modern observance begins with understanding the current generation. … To be successful, Memorial Day observances will have to take forms unrecognizable to the marching-band-and-color-guard set.

Part 3:

We recognize that a lot of people are doing very thoughtful things for Memorial Day and that some of these efforts just need to be aggregated and amplified. Some of our suggestions are intentionally very small, but through collective involvement could become very meaningful. We hope this is the beginning of a fruitful conversation and look forward to hearing your ideas…

Update, Saturday night: Driving to the countryside this morning, the first thing I saw upon merging onto 66 was a minute-long run of Rolling Thunder bikers coming the other way. I'd never seen that many riders heading into town at once before. It struck me as exactly the kind of concept that should fuel future innovations on Memorial Day. Digital or analog, when you fill people's eyes and ears, you have their attention.

I had to fucking look up where the Mocambo was.

It's in Canada! Are you serious? Who releases a live Canada album? Unless you're indie and taping in Montreal and all that lil' restrained clapping is cool. But you are not indie. You're Elvis Costello, and you spend half the show telling people to stand up. At one point, you tell the Canadians you've come to take their country back for England.

Good for you, my friend. You don't want to go back to Chelsea? Don't go. "She gave a little flirt, gave herself a little cuddle…" An angry young man has a job to do, and pissing off Canadians is apparently part of it.

Side note: I love Canada. Never had a bad time there, and I like every Canadian I've ever met. Anyway. The three best parts of the show?

1) Lipstick Vogue.

Select the control and then insert the token
You wanna throw me away but I'm not broken
You've got a lot to say, well I'm not joking
There are some words they don't allow to be spoken
Sometimes I almost feel just like a human being

Drum roll, no. Rolling drums, yes. There's this drum break in the middle of the song that gets practically Elizabethan play during this show. I don't think the song was even released at this point. Elvis gets a first billing, but the drums get a quick second. Guitars and organ just help as they can. The drum break rolls for a good minute, alternating loud and soft. Because the lipstick vogue is, just as the song says, just a vogue, and you're going to get replaced. Good luck to you, you fool.

2) The end. After a concluding Pump It Up, the live album ends with nearly two minutes of Canadians yelling for more. "MORE!" "MORE!" With nine seconds to go on the disc, an announcer tells the crowd there will be no more. The end. Back when you were cruel, man…

3) How when I listen to this album and your Live at Hollywood High album, I don't think about anything else. Time passes more quickly, and I need it. Waitin' for the end of the world, dear Lord. Go Friday!

Update, a few days later: My dad e-mails he's glad I like Canadians, as he reminds me my great-grandmother and the four generations of Cryslers before her were all Canadian. In fact, in the War of 1812, a battle on the family farm was pretty much the reason the USA didn't take over Canada. Why were we trying to take over Canada again?

Some of the best pix on Shorpy — for the uninitiated, the best old-time photo blog on the Web — are photos of Luna Parks. New York, my own Arlington, Pittsburgh, Cleveland, Detroit. Others? Don't know, probably. The night shots (the Luna!) are unanimously brilliant, and you can only hope to imagine the experience. An Arlington amusement park! Cool.

Except no real photo of Arlington's Luna appears to exist. Bah.

Whatever. I can imagine it down the road. The bright lights, the music, the dangerous rides, the freaks, the girls (hopefully outnumbering the freaks), the true Arlington experience, halfway between the lore of Mt. Vernon and whores of Rosslyn. (Can't find a great link, but it's true.)

Anyway. Lindsay sends me a PDF, "Amusing the Million," a 1908 essay from Frederic Thompson, founder of Coney Island's Luna and basically a godfather of Coney. He dives into the development of experience, which sets the tone for the island and sets him apart from competitors. The essay includes his successes but some failures too, and no matter where your experience design occurs, he has something to say to you.

Like:

Instead of advertising an organ concert in Music Hall we yelled ourselves hoarse about high diving, greased poles, parades, and every other crazy thing we could think of. I instructed all bands to play marching and to go to the band-stands only when they wished to rest. To the Stadium, which had never held a quarter of its capacity, I drew 23,000 people to see a race contested by an ostrich, a camel, an elephant, a man on a bicycle, another on a horse, an automobile, and a zebra. I had a man sliding by his teeth from the top of the sky-scraping electric tower to the esplanade below.

Ostrich, camel, elephant, man on a bike, man on a horse, car, zebra.

Various music for the morning.

Electro Snake, Ryan Adams. My favorite part of the song is how the title is two words. That's not to say I don't enjoy the rest of it. It's a mix of the Rock and Roll loud jangle and Ryan's pre-Whiskeytown screamers. I like that. I wish I could comment on the rest of the album, but it hasn't surfaced anywhere. (Ryan is only selling the album on fancy vinyl with no previews. Other songs include Imminent Galactic War and Ghorgon, Master of War. And now the album's sold out. So, after the spelling and the song, my third favorite part has to be this reader comment on the album art, "I would note that the typeface appears (without checking) to be the one designed for the Mexico City Olympics of 1968."

I Should Have Known It, Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. A new song so fuzzy-good that Petty and the band look surprised to be playing it. Lacks any nuance, especially in late in it, but I like how they recorded live with no overdubs and I've played it too many times this week.

Mixtape, Tift Merritt. Recently an NPR Music song of the day. I was all kinds of skeptical about the strings at first, but the more I listen, the more I like them. (The rest of the album hasn't done this for me yet.) The phrasing is perfect, too. Lyrics alone nearly don't do justice. Still: "Rewind, it comes to an end, turns over again, another a thousand times / Me, I'll be the same, no I never change, I'm like a rare B-side."

Panic Switch (Live at KROQ), Silversun Pickups. You know I love this song, and an airing live and loud is fantastic. Here, though, we get a near-acoustic version. Works. For such a juiced-up, electric song, you see in the video how the best of those songs have unplugged roots.

Month of May, Arcade Fire. Via Kellen. No opinion yet. (That's a lie. I like it but have found no emotional connection yet. Not sure I'll find one.)

Cotton Fields, CCR. Because I sang it in the shower.

When I got home from work tonight, police cars and tape blocked the driveway to the garage. I circled to the other entrance and thought there had been a robbery. When I arrived at the other entrance and found it open with no police around, I thought there'd been a crime in the apartments next door to the main driveway. When I stopped into my apartment, walked up the street and saw police at the courtyard's small dog park above the main driveway, I knew someone had fallen.

ARL Now confirms as much tonight: "Man Dies After Accidental Plunge."

The early report is horrible: "A man was killed this afternoon when he fell nearly four stories off the ledge of an elevated apartment courtyard onto a concrete driveway below. [Accident, police say.] … A nurse who was near by reportedly tried giving CPR to the man, who was bleeding and unconscious. … The man was walking several dogs at the time of the incident. … Several people who have commented on this story or emailed us say the man fell from the apartment complex's dog park."

I look at the photos, and there's the driveway I drove in last night and out this morning. There's the concrete. There's the key reader. There's the police officer taking a photo of the blood. The dog area is relatively new. I can't pinpoint exactly when. Dogs used to run all over that part of the courtyard, and this year they've had the new area. You've seen the fence the man fell over here, here, here, and a few other times.

Reposting one pic, from April:

Update, Thursday: Talk about bad timing. The Prime — the building next door that manages the dog park — e-mailed its residents this morning. A proactive response to the death and resulting fears? No.

A Prime'r sent me the message. Under the subject "Just checking in," the Prime's management company offered a quality survey. "We're always looking for ways to enhance our quality of service and what we can do to ensure your living experience with us is very satisfying…"

Likely, the e-mail was automated and scheduled ahead of time. Such e-mails often are. But not good. In other news, the dog park was open last night with no noticeable changes to the fencing. Surprising.

When not doing journalism and battling snakes, Randy does barbecue but more so good music (and American Idol). So, when he recommends Bettye LaVette's NPR Tiny Desk session, I click through pretty quickly.

Only one song of her mini-set is live, apparently for rights reasons, but it's a eye-opening cover of Ringo Starr's It Don't Come Easy. You know, "got to pay your dues if you want to sing the blues." The video doesn't have an embed and isn't in NPR Music's YouTube channel, but I want you to check out two links. First, here's the video I wish I could embed.

Second, AOL Spinner is streaming LaVette's new album with the cover, Interpretations — The British Rock Songbook, for a limited time. And, so, guess what? As good as the Tiny Desk set sounds, the Ringo cover is even better on the album. The approach picks up swing and moves from eye-opening to revelatory. Your day is worse if you don't listen.

Peace, remember peace is how we make it,
Here within your reach
If you're big enough to take it.

Then check out the rest of the tracks and let me know your favorites. Don't Come Easy, for instance, leads into a strong Maybe I'm Amazed. (Rod Stewart, are you paying attention? Either make a great covers album or go home and make the solid blues-rock album we want you to make.) Or you may like LaVette's Don't Let Me Be Understood, which doesn't do much for me. Too classy in the orchestration. I'm not sure you can improve on The Animals without aiming further into a gutter. You may also like the album's pacing, which plodded some for me.

One prediction: You're going to like the final three songs — the best closing group I've heard on an album in a while. Why Does Love Got to be So Sad gets a jazzed makeover that works like J.C. Brooks and the Uptown Sound's I Am Trying to Break Your Heart cover works. Then we get Don't Let the Sun Go Down on Me. It's a straight reduction, but if Sir Elton's original only works in some rooms of your house, this take may work in the others. Lastly… lastly… there's a live Love, Reign O'er Me.

This song requires its own paragraph. I love the original. I even really like the Adam Sandler-Don Cheadle movie. But LaVette's version, from the '08 Kennedy Center Honors for The Who, is the inspiration for this album, and whatever your musical or Sandler tastes, your jaw drops. Spinner has best audio, but the video helps you believe it happened.

A couple months back.

Freight ship.

My cabin has a bed and a couch and a coffee table that's bolted to the floor. Those bolts worry me. They mean there are days on this ship when the furniture needs bolting down. I slept on the couch last night. Maybe out of habit. Maybe because I'm more comfortable on couches. When you sleep in a bed, you have responsibilities. There are sheets to pull down and pillows to prop up, and sometimes there are other people, too. A bed is for sleeping, but a couch is for sleeping around. I consider sleeping on the couch every night, like I'm couch surfing across the Atlantic ocean. That's a couch surfer's dream, after all, catching a ride on some couch that'll take you around the world, like some slacker Magellan, mooching a circumnavigation.

- Bill Brown, Dream Whip #14