Spring Fling

 

    Spring takes some getting used to, especially when preceded by days of rain. Then suddenly we get wind and gradually the sun leading to one or two full days of Vitamin D. Along with it comes the kwanzan trees, a more hardy longlasting version of the fabled Washington brand. Now mid-month one very special specimen stands guard over three and a half backyards on Capitol Hill,  a treat to behold and worthy of the name 'Gloria.'  She is a flirtatious plant, flinging her limbs about in spectacular fashion, seemingly free as the birds that nestle within.

    And of other positive scenes: a memorial service inside the National Portrait Gallery on a Saturday morning before the museum opened. The man honored had once been the Gallery's head, bringing it into the 20th century so that, in words of the current director, Kim Sajet, "he redefined the world of national portraiture and allowed us to include living beings. Daughter Gillian Pachter spoke fondly of her father as "good at telling lives,"  an indelible portrait himself of a person fiercely committed to humanity. "He made portraiture not about yesterday but about today and tomorrow" said Lonnie Bunch, founder of the Museum of African American History and Culture currently head of the entire Smithsonian itself. Above all, this self-described flaneur ws "living just in the moment wherever I am." He made sure that life included abundant travel, adventures galore, and, above all, no regrets. Son Adam aptly remembered a father who never forgot to give his children 'mad money' for their travels, so they could enjoy pleasures sought and enjoyed without guilt. So dedicated to the humane, the feast of friendship, the man for some reason never learned to drive. Which, in a sense, is the very definition of a flaneur, a wanderer who takes chances and makes every moment his own.

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    PS Nothing in  what follows is especially about spring doings except how an increased number of visitors to the capital city during school break time can impinge in coincidentally ways about how we locals go about our everyday life. For this Eastern Market home owner, such activities recently included a trying task  - cleaning a Baratza model coffee grinder. It is no mean feat to tackle this device, first to take it apart and clean the inner pieces, then figure out how to put it back together again. Two other people tried their hand at the task and none  succeeded in making it work again. So I lugged it several blocks away to the Peregrine Espresso store to get sympathy and possibly some help. But not even the  barista on duty knew what to do. I was told to return in two days' time after  the morning rush hour  when the owner could try since it's likely she had the same product at home. That I did, waiting while she did her best = unsuccessfully. The first time the first day another customer suggested I call the manufacturer who could supply me with a tool to take out the part that was now stuck. Or likely I could send the thing back and have it made whole again by 'customer service.' But on my second day at the coffee shop another stranger walked in and saw what was happening and got to work. In a very few minutes my machine was working again. How could this friendly stranger  just have happened by. He was visiting DC from another Washington - the state - and even better he boasted, he was from the Yakima Valley, one of the country's most fertile agricultural areas. He told how: millions of years ago rich soil from  Montana was deposited there ...and so on.The encounter was a serendipitous exchange, so different from  the fractious momentous doings taking place inside the nation's Capitol building only a mile or so away. 

Long live serendipity and the importance of making each moment count. Now a segue to the name of this blog: Urbanities. Being urbane takes many forms,  one of which surely is being able to recognize and appreciate when the moment matters. The word urbane too often infers 'citified', 'polish' or 'suavity' - on the negative side. But a person can be urbane in a rural world as well. A question of attitude...

March Blows In

     

    And my camellia bush blooms,  slowly. Now about six out of a potential hundred or more. March days move forward  slowly, not wanting to raise hopes for the world.

    So to dispel the gloom (and gray rain), I tackle the mundane - which is to try making a friend of sorts whenever I'm  indulging in  commonplace and mostly frustrating household tasks. Like finding a solution to a window roller shade that will no longer roll. This involves a trip to Home Depot where my request for help with two domestic matters of little consequence produces just that: no immediate result. Just to make the tasks not seem quite so futile I challenge myself to engage on a human level (a little smile, a patient approach, a 'we are in this together' attitude). Instead of surly (I'm told 'we don't do that' at first try) when I'm breaking up a group of women employes talking together to get an answer, I strive in a small self-satisfying way to create fellowship. I come away with the name of a firm that will do it, providing I show interest in buying another shade. My second mission is to locate what may be called a food waste storage can, otherwise known as future compost. A genial man whom I meet walking the aisles volunteers to lead me to a shelf where a possible container might be found. Instead, we find a pail without a lid. He spends several minutes in the search. We conclude  he earnestly and sympathetically agrees: nothing like that at the Depot (which doubles as a waiting place for out of work hopeful handymen bunching in groups) is useless and together we come up with the local hardware store where personnel answering my question (about where and what is a likely source for this object) by phone include the store's owner.

This is a sermon on how somewhat trivial chores can matter. I had to be taught to think 'common sense' . The lesson came from a fellow in the hardware store (where a sign read 'no ski masks allowed') who logically enough suggested unrolling the shade to see what might be in a label on the bar holding the fabric. Yes, there it was, my last name and the date of my last encounter with the maker of the shade.

    While I'm thinking basics - chores, camellias and such - I keep regressing to the habit acquired most severely during the pandemic: following carefully every day's New York Times Cooking column. The recipes with their reassuring vibe - yes, you can do it if you can read - and the calmly satisfying photographs attached. How and why they mattered so much in getting through a day - some lodestar, escapist fantasy of being able to cook and eat well.

    That's one reason but probably not the only one. The organizing fetish is a cover, an excuse, to imagine actually accomplishing something in the face of doubt. The effort is its own reward.

PS The prospect of turning a mix of unlikely ingredients into something digestible, even worth digesting, is another reward. Even, somehow, when results fail. Take cauliflower, green olives, almonds and feta for example. Suspense reigns throughout the trial... which is graded on a 'nice try but' level. So on to the next experiment: chicken thighs, dates, sweet potato and plenty of spices.

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    Another food story that also is news. Of a sort that at least patrons of Folger Shakespeare Library will welcome. After waiting through four years of renovations and suspense about a reopening date (now set for June 21 this year), hungry friends and supporters of the immensely impressive  and handsome edifice on Washington's Capitol Hill will surely welcome the invention there (really a reinvention) of a well-supplied cafe in the Great Hall. Anyone familiar with the museum-library-theater complex should take a look at the lively scene imagined in this photo. Better, too, take heart in the democratic way the cafe space was named. "Crumble and Quill' was crowdsourced publicly and voted on dramatically enough down to the last ballot. The name surely will stand out among more common cafe titles of the town. A great salute to the wordsmith indeed.

    Sherry surely. And crumpets?

PS Any  devoted Folger fan might have noticed that I transposed  the name of the new hangout: It should have been Quill & Crumb. So kudos to those who caught this. Or was it my subconscious wanting to trick a reader?

    Or this, from the department of Never Underestimate Variety in an Urban Setting.

    Twice this week (the last of March 2024 forever.....), we attended two events of an extremely different nature that were free and open to the public (with registration), thereby again proving how an informed life (free email distribution) helps make an interesting life.

    Journalist Bill Press has a gig of sorts that  finds him periodically interviewing people of interest at the Hill Center on Capitol Hill. One requirement seems to be the subject at hand must have wide appeal and often has a book just published that an author or speaker hopes to publicize. Yes, copies of books are on sale at the site. Thus did Alex Prud'homme come to write "Dinner with the President: Food, Politics, and  a History of Breaking Bread at The White House." Not irrelevant is the fact that his great aunt is/was the great cook and memoirist Julia Child (he helped her produce her 'My Life in France.') Undoubtedly, he knows a good table and a good story when he is at or around one.  True to form, he could and did entertain with anecdotes true and believed about dining habits of political and social notables. He told of quirky tastes and reasons for them, reputations of White House chefs, how and why dining traditions are  enshrined in those hallowed quarters. How 'gastro diplomacy' works. 

    A day or so later I attended a big band concert at - why not? - the Martin Luther King Library, by the 44-year-old  LGBTQH however you wish to combine the letters Jazz Band who call themselves "the Different Drummers." Certainly a different way of applying a familiar expression - to march to the tune of a different drummer. The timpani were all women but members were all ages and backgrounds, as was the talent: Japanese born horn player who could make his language a rhythmic force said aloud and another younger man (on another instrument) whistling in jazz style.Oh, to hear audience appreciation like that at every entertainment event in this city...

 

February Frolic

 

The famous Folger Theatre above. See below.

     Best keep an open mind. February does not have to be the low point of a dismaying year in the world (wars and worry about wars, moral and political). Much else is conspiring to distract your attention,  with thoughtful' and  polished  in-person options.

    For instance, the DC History Center's 'Book Talk" on February 23 is titled 'The Rise of Uber in DC." How did authors of that book come up with such a seemingly innocuous title when they are, it appears, calling out Uber's success here  as 'a symptom of urban weakness and low expectations from local city politics.' The event drew an audience of nearly 100 representing (at a glance) varied ages and backgrounds. Katie Wells and Declan Cullen are the book's authors, taking a critical look at the power of corporate wealth to sway local government bodies (read here DC Council members of yore) for favorable legislation that ends up, in their words, as a 'disrupter' to the public's need for enlightened transportation policies. The team of two had spent years following 35 men and women and their experiences as partime drivers for Uber. The outcome wasn't satisfactory in most cases, even when workers such as the fulltime officer  making $53,000 for the DC Housing Authority who could not escape the need to work two jobs - as government employe and UBer driver - to maintain a family. "We do not take care of each other enough," as an urban entity, the authors noted.

.    A controversy of sorts but not one recognized by those who favor the ease and convenience of ride sharing/personal control ways of moving around without having to worry about finding a parking space.

    Ah, but this is deceptive because Uber/Lyft/others can be expensive, and the rider has only minimum control - though offered some choices  - of price.

     It' was certainly an unusual look at an unusual  city. To ease any disturbing revelations, the Center  recommended that attendees stick around for Apple's 'Friday evening DJ series, 6-7:30, taking place in the same building. (The former Carnegie Library is an historic building set in a welcoming park on one of Washington's most well trafficked areas. And note! The building is easily accessed on the Metro's green and yellow lines, Mt. Vernon Square, a few blocks away. Access for disabled patrons is provided  and broad sidewalks ensure easy circulation for pedestrians.)

    Another tack might be: Uber's existence also speaks as a mirror of diversity in a city whose population and traditions are often cited as  having a 'Southern' (read: white) cast. DC also is known as Chocolate City though statistics of late question the relevance as gentrification moves on. Drivers are often from so-called minority states and cultures. Their accents do not often lean 'South.' Would a recent ride going from Dupont Circle to the Navy Yard on a Thursday evening count as typical? 

     The passengers included a woman visitor from Puerto Rico on the last few days of her stay. Her speech was strongly accented - German - reflecting her original home. It was her first time using the Uber App that her host had strongly suggested she  experience for this and any other future trips to cosmopolitan areas where Uber has invariably made inroads. The driver was a friendly Virginia  native with a slight Spanish inflection in his voice. His family had come from a Latin American country before he was born and it turned out in a very few minutes of conversation that he was interested in possibly moving to San Juan - for the climate and for less expensive daily living. He  quizzed his customer on that last point, having heard her  volunteer that she had been in PR for 40 years, first as an employe of an international company and now as a retiree widow with a grown daughter. She chose to live in a small town on the southwest of PR so was well versed and happy to share information. He asked quickly about the availability of a university and the best modes of travel back and forth to and from the US.

    No names were exchanged but he noted the name of her town and the passenger in turn said she would welcome him if he came.

    Not quite a United Nations moment but perhaps revealing in its own way.  A true cross section of the greater Washington area that can offer much more in quiet ways than  politics in the headlines. Next week a chance to attend a National Archives event - hosted by the NA Foundation - free as many such are not to mention activities in perpetual motion at the fabled Smithsonian buildings on the Mall.  

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        Enlightenment comes in various packages - and often deceptively as 'entertainment.' Thus, Folger Shakespeare Library's theater production of  "Where We Belong" a one-woman autobiographical show, that explores in 85 compelling minutes the many contradictions in both our celebration and dismissal of native (indigenous) cultures.  Indeed, our inability, as she notes, "to take care of each other." Alone on stage, the playwright and scholar Madeline Sayet, a member of the Mohegan tribe, shows physically and emphatically the importance of stories to the human condition.  She begins by reminding the audience that they occupy land once inhabited by a tribe that was led by female chiefs. As 'chief' the actor - portraying several characters, including her mother - assumes a contemporary storyteller stance wearing boots, jeans, a colorful patterned jacket and plain loose blouse. Much of what she describes in words and gestures are the limitations of borders, the hardships of colonialism,   the difficulties of overcoming prejudices and ignorance.To do so, she takes on the status of a blackbird - her name in the seldom spoken Mohegan language -who in flight, in the sky makes borders disappear. The  set is a combination of ever changing light and cloud formations, abstract shapes above and below the sky, as Ms. Sayet portrays the difficulties of coming to terms with lost  traditions and inheritance. Through March 10, in association with Washington's Woolly Mammoth Theatre Company.

Prejudice and exploitation are  wars against The Other, the Different  the Stranger. Wars seldom make peace but only give rise to new grounds for battle. Both between people and nations.

    It's worth noting how many talented women have assumed executive/director roles currently in Washington DC arts across the board. In museums and theaters and institutions of renown, the  shift has been something of a revolution. And along with the 'trend,' is recognition of these women's  diverse careers and backgrounds. Salut!

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   Also on the home front, where safety issues and crime are upbeat in many people's minds: Witness the increase in 'safety' personnel in and around Metro stations. Possibly, too, in changing attitudes of Metro personnel towards customers using the system.  I had rushed out of my house recently, hurrying  into the Eastern Market station  when I realized I had brought with me, instead of my 'senior pass' the DC Library card and several $20 bills. (Because I wasn't expecting to spend more than that on whatever plans I had that night. And because of scare stories about people and car jacking, holdups with guns by teenagers, not to mention paranoid homeless and crazy souls, I left ID and credit cards behind.)  Lo to my surprise I couldn't even buy a card/ticket for my roundtrip excursion because the automatic system only takes $10 or below. I had a deadline; I was stumped, until the employe in the cage rescued me by allowing me to go through the gate free and saying he would call ahead to the person in charge of my intended stop  where I could get help. Somehow this worked - that someone was really informed in time and could reconfigure somehow the machine that would return a $10 card with change in ten dollar coins. Yes, Sacajawea was going to be my travel mate that night. (See: The worth of certain such coins on the market.)

So polite they were, too. So non-threatening.  So goes the urban lover's high wire existence. I walk gingerly these days, given all the warnings to 'be careful,' 'stay safe.' Who could not when there are 'ghost' police cars parked in public places that are empty of a driver. Does this mean pedestrians are free to get into one of these in case of imminent danger? No sign is attached...

A January Thaw?

                  Can there be a thaw when there hasn't been a cold snap in months or recent memory, whatever is longer?

    But it is classic to look for one, maybe even to make one up in one's mind (which is the memory part after all). So I chose yesterday the magic number 7, which also happened to be my double digit birthday (yikes, yet again...), to go on a rant.

    What is a rant, exactly?  Perhaps it is whatever a person chooses it to be. I took the sound of the word over any meaning (that, if examined closely, is likely negative). I was embarrassed to be so old in the numbers game and was overcome with guilt. How come I'm still alive and reasonably sound in mind and body when others have met their maker, gone south, whatever.  It was possibly circumstantial that I felt compelled to go social, to make the case for making friends out of strangers if only for a few minutes. I stopped a young woman from reading a book in a bookstore because she had picked up the title of 'Fire' on a bright red jacket.

     How come? I asked her. that is a provocative title and did you reach for it out of some felt need? Fortunately she wasn't taken aback but answered with a small smile: Well I'm majoring in the environment, she said immediately. So this seems pertinent. Aha, a connection. I saw she was with a group and didn't persist. 

    Upstairs in another shop above the bookstore I was waiting for some prints to be made of one of my grandchildren's drawings. I had superimposed on it some words of cheer thinking she might use it as an invite for an upcoming birthday. (Indeed, her father said she would like more of them for just that purpose. Or maybe he suggested that to her, no matter.) I was intent on explaining why I was doing this and wanted the other woman in the room to know it. That began a short discussion on grandchildren, on how and when they learn to speak and interact with the world. Another contact that drew the attention of the sales clerk since I let it be known that my namesake grand was in Montana. Lo and behold, the clerk had lived in the state, knew all about it, was immediately engaged. 

    It's so easy to create conversation if you, the initiator, are at ease with yourself. But that is another story and has nothing to do with birthdays...and a rant, by the way, can be any determined action for any purpose. At least in my book.