Octoberrrrrrrrrh

 No, not yet cold enough to shake from the chill but the grand leap in temps from morn to night is a warning: Nature is now fully in charge.  

This is ever more true in the so-called wild  west where there are simultaneously  'wild' fires, brilliant sun,  and winds aplenty. Traveling there takes only a few flying hours but the gap between urban east and less-often-called urban west is  longer and starker. Im impressed how such a distance can affect a person not only physically, but mentally and emotionally. Or is this simply one person's 'problem' - an overload of the senses?t's diffficult to describe and may have something to do with air/surroundings whatever - obvious changes a person never thinks about until the change is stark. Perhaps it is how one thinks of oneself in different settings: expectations, etc. As a grandmother I play a role very different from the person alone who carries no necessary 'image'.  Ah,the drama of life. The games we play.

Segue to a friend who volunteers every Sunday at DCA, local airport for Washington, for Travelers Aid. She stands or sits behind a counter waiting for strangers who need help in such strange (to them) uncharted surroundings: how to find the rideshare option, the local taxi, the distant gate where they hopefully will find their plane. Never predict what someone will say addressing this 'authority': surprises are part of the job. Like the young man who came up to her recently only to observe that he 'liked to see older women (herself she surmised)  who keep their hair in place.'  She called it a flirtation - of a kind. Maybe his awkward attempt at conversation.  "Maybe he was a hairdresser,' she says. He definitely lacked some social skills.

Aghast - It's Late August Already

 And I've been thinking and pondering and musing and wishing the thoughts were being transcribed immediately on a page. Not because such words matter or are always coherent. Just to remind myself I am alive to other people and responding more than ever to what might be seen as trivia, mundane, useless. So be it. i like to remember the any day may be significant...how spontaneous interchanges with strangers can matter. A smile here, a look there - that can pass for  a conversation of sorts. Witness: The tall man with his high  bicycle maneuvering to find a place for it in a subway car. The dirty back tire brushes and nearly touches my leg while I'm seated in the 'side' chair. Oh sorry he goes quickly, seeing the near scrape. At our mutual stop I stand and wave to him that he should disembark first (the better to leave a path for other passengers) but he smiles and urges me to go ahead. I smile back in thanks...I follow hi as he leaves the station. 

Or fun times in my nearby Trader Joe, underground and doubtless smaller than most of the octobus chain outlets are. I'm looking for a product I was sure to find - humble thing, half a dozen eggs - and ask the crew member might he know where I could get this, even - horrors, break the rules that crew so not cut apart the dozens of dozen eggs packages so secure in their paper bondage packets. He move quickly to tell me he will try in the back room and voila he does so with good results. I say it is because I have so small a fridge. He smiles; I smile. I move on and then go for another product on my list. Where might that be, I implore him. He seems to like the challenge.  But overall for a late afternoon visit to a public place this exchange represents something rare: I acknowledge his being and he responds. I thank him for his caring, his effort. We have had a meaningful exchange of no real consequence but the exchange is uplifting and he seems to agree. Good day, yes, you too, thanks for making it so, etc.

June moon and a lot else

         

    Whatever else Benjamin Franklin knew (a lot of many things to many men and women) he may have known himself best of all. He knew about  'soulspace' perhaps more than anyone else in the past or present celebrity world - both a mental and physical place..  Philadelphia was his favorite  city- "more wide open than New York," he said. Yes, that' word is hard to define. H seemed to suggest is is where a person feels he/she flourishes best., The city was where he felt  most at home- as the author  Eric Weiner of a new book called 'Ben and Me' might define it: He certainly prospered there although he spent many of his long years (death from pleurisy in April of 1784 ) in Europe - especially London (not his favorite, being as he saw a closed society).

Among his many inventions, Weiner writes is - most surprisingly - a glass harmonica,. Nothing was too challenging for him - not even editing Thomas Jefferson's words for the Declaration of Independence'  the  corrected from TJ"S original: We hold these truths to be self-sufficient that all men are created equal." Of advice, the old sage had plenty. Notably, as Weiner recounts, he had three rules or advice for any age. Number one was to listen to guard your anger, to doubt your convictions, and, above all, 'be curious.' The influencer of his day was also the original 'social entrepreneur., although, surprisingly, Weiner notes, Franklin was quiet among strangers . Also, somewhat of a surprise, the multitalented Franklin said  the best way for getting along with others was "get someone to do you a favor.'

  In this 250th year of this country's ongoing origin(we invent as we go along, still trying to figure out what this experiment called democracy is all about). Franklin above all was tough and fussy, believing 'only the virtuous  people are capable of freedom.'

A tough number, as we might say in modern idiom.

 But such stern words  from a largely self-taught man were accompanied by good humor and a flirtatious personality.All of which makes him, in Weiner's words, "the least dead of our founding fathers.' That isn't to forget Ben's somewhat careless and selfish attitudes to the women in his life. Lots of them apparently. But so goes the mystery of the man that books interpreting him keep rolling off the pressses.

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In a far less touted method of 'reaching out,' it might be useful to suggest how even local, everyday interactions of people can be revelatory and humbling. Perhaps even thrilling. On personal note, I was recently within hours on a humid hot day  walking and "Metroing' as I often do. I had no special thoughts in my head when I found myself hailed at a street crossing by a woman driver holding a bottle of water out the window. I supposed that, seeing my exposure to the really horrid weather she meant to offer it to me.  (DOubtless she felt sorry for me from her air conditioned car. I thanked her indicating I was carrying some H20 for relief so she would not have to stop and hold up traffic behind her.It was notable because she was Black and I seldom have ever had such generous encounters with strangers.  

Later that afternoon I was seated in one of Metro's chard cement passenger benches awaiting a train when I noticed a youngish Black man sitting beside me tying some sort of butterfly decoration to the top of his sneakers. It's currently a trend among young girls, I  had been told by an 11-year-old. Bravo for the fellow's attempt to add some flair to his  everyday attire and told him so. In response, he  reached  into his backpack and pulled out a bottle of soda, indicating with a gesture that I might want to take it or share. That just is not normal (but assuredly welcome) behavior among strangers on a public platform...I might have tried engaging him in some conversation but the train was pulling in and, once aboard, he seated himself from me some distance away.

Ah, well, ring a bell for possibilities.

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I'm reminded of how people  generally distance themselves  from others so deliberately in a closed space and how difficult it is for so many  in Washington's transportation system to reach out to others. Not longI broke the rule while on a bus seated next to a woman reading what I thought seemed to be an unusual printed form. Our physical closeness - seated next to one another in the front 'senior/handicapped' section - made it easy to engage. It turns out she and I were to get off at the same spot but I was unclear where the bus stop would be. She offered to  help me find my way....

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May-be

     I'm on a bus, headed home  Sunday to Capitol  Hill from Adams Morgan. It could be any bus operated by Washington Area Transit   Authority. One is transporting heavy bags of clothes and groceries, taking up two  seats of the front section reserved, as the sign says, for handicapped and seniors. No one seems to care about signs. Another passenger, a man in a long robe and cap, puts his  wares for sale on the seat next to him without regard for anyone needing a place to sit down. He is nonchalant - careful not to impose yet somehow commanding attention. His wares are small bottles - perfume perhaps? 

     It's not a long ride and traffic is not so challenging on a weekday night. When a man enters with an undisclosed package no one takes notice. 

What Happened to 2025 now that it is March 2026?

 

Nothing to apologize for. This winter season has been eratic on all counts. March brings spring so 'hope springs' eternal I think the  saying goes. But only if it is your head to  believe such things. Onward to the blessings of renewal. So to keep a modicum of sanity and balance in what is now a warring world.

Hence, this thought: Each day is its own opportunity for renewal in ways big (colorful, remarkable)  and small. Though mostly in what is considered a small thing. So when I am on a crosstown Metro bus I can cherish the driver's spontaneous comment - a compliment - when I pay and she says 'I like your pin.'  I am overjoyed: This is a connection between two strangers that is outright positive. 

No reason that she should interact with a passenger at all, secluded safely between her heavy plastic shield (with an opening on one side). I am thrilled for no real reason other than she was reaching out. My pin is a sparkly rhinestone butterfly covering the Patagonia label on the front of my down vest. "Cheap," I respond - making my return gesture to mean such a pin might be available for anyone. Then  later I take my seat up front in the senior and disabled sections across from an extra large passenger  - a few hundred pounds or so - and see that he is carrying a large sack containing the familiar label of  petitions for signatures that enable a candidate to qualify for a race. We are connected in that way, too. This is the season to prime for the primary races locally. I've done my share of work in my Ward. The weekend market is almost a chorus line of similar entreaties.

'Only connect" was the much quoted slogan attributed to the English novelist E.M. Foster.  Melancholy words in an era when it seems most connecting is done through automatic, mechanistic means. Seeming to prevent any real personal contact. Still, it's worth the effort  though  a person may feel hopelessly archaic and  ridiculous when the stranger  who is unexpectedly approached, responds with a look of puzzlement if not fear.

Or maybe the better  word is

'engage,' any way, if a 'connection' doesn't quite describe the effort.

As a minor form of rebellion I  try not to let the opportunity  get away every day. So on a recent airplane ride,  I managed a real conversation with  two seat mates on two different trips.In neither case was the stranger immersed in the solitary exclusionary act of watching a video on their screens - thus it seemed not out of hand to engage. One easy one:  Are you a native of (------ wherever the passenger has begun the journey or where he/she hopes to land)? In one case, a fit looking middle aged man in military dress was on his way to Hawaii to test his deep fishing skills, being a licensed outfitter for water trips on land. I learned a great deal about challenges to the sport, limits imposed by local government to save a species from extinction. (catch and release after taking the photo). On my return, the woman beside me was rapidly cleaning with a  packaged wipe her seat as well as the drop-down board. Turned out she was  a  suburban Marylander interested in politics and the arts: both of my favorites as well.  Yes, she would consider coming to a fundraiser for a Montana candidate running for the US House ...

Once Upon a Time in December (2025)

 

    Yes, it actually snowed in Washington. Ice came down (while numbers of federal ICE personnel went up). So it might depend on your ability to withstand discomfort how to respond.

Newsworthy November

  ....except who wants to remember the weirdness of it all. Government on a record number of shutdown days. Veteran employes working under fiat and not getting paid. Airline turmoil and endless to-ing and fro-ing.

October etc.

 

    It helps to take a break sometime, as this column definitely shows. Somehow a sense of a stalemate settled in while the Trumptrauma machine got into full motion.

    Of more pleasant and nonconsequential topics: Previously the column had explored  a part of the underbelly of Travellers Aid programs, especially at Washington/s National Reagan airport better known as DCA. And what the volunteers go through intermittently, who they are, and why they are....from a source who is on duty for three hours there nearly every Sunday night. Thus she recently reported: a man who had walked up to her and declared without preamble: "I want to turn myself in"   (she called police, just in case he was a runaway from the crime or such). This week (we are in mid-month) another man addresssed her with the words "I think I'm going to faint."  Nothing more than that. She had him sit (where exactly, since chairs are not usually available nearby) and called the medics who roam airport byways or else wait in an office of their own somewhere on the two and a half thousand acre space.

    Another add to the stories some of these volunteers can tell: How a 16-year veteran volunteer met a woman saying she had left her mother at the airport and was going to drive away because "I can't handle her anymore."  How the police and others had to deal with a probably partially demented older woman who had no idea what her daughter had done.

    Few travellers might know the desks are completely staffed by volunteers but, even so, the cadre operates on professional grounds. Regular updates, security briefings,  and yes even holiday partying. Of note, each year the airport recognizes American veterans brought in to the city for special commemoration from all over the country. Uniforms for the TA people are on order too.

August Anxieties

 

SERMON OF THE DAY

A pessimistic view of Future Things is necessarily a defensive tactic. Far better is the notion of offense, no matter in what manner it is conceived, short of violence.

July, Oh My....

 

    Some tough living going on  under those meandering clouds all over 'this fair land'' these days. Escape is mandatory any way possible, which sometimes is not possible.  Fireworks for the 4th (a mixed sentiment for true patriots who respect the contradictions  built into the so-called American way)  -  just a passing blip, given the noise associated with political protests and ongoing deliberations.

    So it might seem a wee bit off-key to brag about a trip to 'never neverland' aboard an actual train, a short 11 hour span, traveling from 2 a.m.in Cleveland Ohio to 1:30 pm. in Washington DC. Not really a long ride, given the size of the country but one so out of the ordinary it requires description in detail. Plus the fact that I had not had the luxury of a bed aboard in many decades, too many to count. It must have been when I was a camper chugging off to New England in summertime, holding for dear life into a high-up berth in a sleeping car stacked to the beam with individual mattresses and a hundred others or so it seemed, in the same car.. 

 Because  this time I originally bought a coach ticket ($80) and then fell under the spell of extravagance and  changed to roomette status.Whoa, what a change. Private quarters, so-called comfortable beds- in fact, hard and narrow. Privacy of sorts - the two restrooms in the car, and likely the shower room - had no locks from the inside but a mechanism whereby the red light (occupied) showed whenever a person closed the door. Not a bad way to prevent interlopers and allow 'authorities' access when necessary.

     Protocols were mostly unspoken and unwritten.. Food and a single alcoholic drink was on the house but only if  a passenger was seated in the dining car.  He/she had to pay in the cafe. Dining was a good deal - three meals, white tablecloths, solid menu choices - but  where you sat was under the supervision of the hostess. In my case, a tired unsmiling woman who 'unseated' me when I took a seat alone at a table,; she pointedly directed me to the empty seat in a table holding three others that  needed a fourth body.. No arguing with that  lady. Breakfast opened at 6:30 am. - likely in observance of a crew's schedule buy also maybe figuring in  what key stops mattered along the way. There were many stops between the Big Cities - and some casual ones, when pet owners could take their four footers to a platform "to do their business.'  All traffic outside halted until the train moved on...

At one point we slowed (then already a bit behind schedule) owing to a freight train ahead on the same track.  This was the old/new Amtrak - making do out of necessity. Where was the parallel track one might normally expect . Ah, but the blanket provided was cozy enough, the close quarters something of a designer's dream: the sink opened by pulling down a handle. Clean soap and wash cloths were at hand.

The 'dedicated'  porter was friendly ("I'm Carlos"), noise was minimal. Colorful scenes of various kinds streamed by outside the window. My flat bed  got turned into a seat when I ambled off for breakfast. And when tripping to the cafe car late morning for a constitutional I literally tripped - on an unexpectedly large step  in my path. I landed - somehow - on  the floor on my back,  the back of my head hitting the ground. A uniformed official was around and saw me in time to show immediate professional concern. And possibily the fear of a lawsuit coming their way.  He would stay while I recouped my dignity, assured him that I was  ok.My head hurt but there was no wound and I had managed to get myself off the floor onto a seat.  No lesson learned other than the fact that walking on a moving train takes practice and I had little to none. My last memory of such a journey was as a very young camper on her way to the delights of New England in the summer - also by a lake, though sleeping quarters were definitely of lesser status.

 I continued on to my constitutional - a gin and tonic to celebrate the occasion of an actual overnight ride (albeit only a few hours sleep) aboard the mighty vessel called, impressively enough, the Floridian since it would pass through my home town - Washington DC - on its way to Miami many hours (days?) away. I sought a balm to ease my way into the frantic nature of city life after spending a week in a quiet mostly traffic-free  lakeside retreat resort  of Chautauqua known for education, entertainment and whatever-pleasure-you-  seek under heaven's gate. In short, a sane lifestyle albeit at great remove from what is ordinary living. The cafe car master must have felt the importance of my salute to sanity by an unprompted confession of his own out of the blue: He would be taking his grandchild on a trip; he had recently  asked her where she wanted  to go  and she said Paris. So Paris it would be. With that, he topped up my drink with a cut up piece of lime. The end of his shift gather.  We were nearing the Capital City.I found my way back to the roomette and contentedly watched the iron  horse make its slow entrance into the bustling precincts of Washington's Union Station.

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If travel to foreign places seems arduous, one substitute might be staying home and taking a cooking lesson in the specialty of a country on your bucket list. Fortunately, I have seen Spain - but only a small portion - so the lure of one of its most famous dishes could serve at a minimum to replace the thrill, temporarily anyway. So off to Capitol Hill's community institution called the Hill Center, open to all with a price attached to its varied attractions. One of these is having a chef hired to give lessons in a fully stocked professional kitchen, even, as it often happens  when the meal includes wine. Thus I happily took myself one recent late morning to the fully subscribed two hour  late morning class on paella. Mark Haskell,  our guide, had prepared printed sheets of recipes marked "Traditional Paella" and "New Traditional Paella". Turns out the  older method included rabbit, snails, whatever was local in Valencia = but not seafood.

'New" includred seafood with plenty of options - shelled fish, different kinds of meat, etc. but always and only the short grain rice from Valencia or Bomba rice. We were introduced to reasons for one or the other but basically the class was valuable for learning method and timing. All twelve of us pupils in white aprons up close to the gas stove (whereas cooking over wood the more desirable way) and definitely only the round flat metal paella pan, ideal for creating a kind of crusty bottom to the finiahws dish.

One hour of cooperative effort later, after questions tossed to and fro, we dug in, Oh, do not say Saturday mornings stuck in a hot city have to be boring...

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The hot mess that is the Capitol/capital city so far this month - over half the days gone in a plethora of high humidity followed nearly always by loud ponderous storms with lightning I only hope to see online. Such are the joys: outwitting weather.with good books, cool rooms, occasional breeze. Sidewalks are full of people walking along  under hats  with their eyes on a cellphone. Twice in one day it was possible for me to maim one such character  obviously oblivious to the world around him/her.

And still the protests go on ,as the fate of the nation declines  under executive orders and  wrong-headed court decisions evading laws of the land as we used to know them. It's  probably foolish to think so but almost any trivial diversion helps with one's emotional equilibrium. Thus, I continue to haunt NYtimes recipes since  purchase of many on a long list of ingredients usually requires a trip to the store where even casual encounters with store personnel might constitute a 'social event.'  There are movies, of course, and TV with which to hope for a temporary escape. And a slow sipping of some worthwhile drink... 

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My obsession with recipes has as much to do with the mindset of the moment (anxious, frustrated) concerning the external world and the direction of our country as it does with a perpetual search for good  or at least interesting tastes. Taking care of the self also means sometimes throwing out results. Hah - the power, to be able to reject even the most menial action undertaken in good faith...

Then what comes along in my daily obsessive read of the NYTImes: Bingo - cooking therapy, or some version of the name. No one name can fully describe the ragtag notion being put into motion by, it seems, not fully certified (as 'therapist' with shingle) people making themselves available in people's homes (while tossing around a few pertinent questions such as 'how do you feel peeling that onion?/ or whatever. Yes, it isn't difficult to understand how preparing food, or an entire meal, is a worthwhile distraction from the daily litany of human foibles as seen or heart from distant sources.  And that digesting good tastes can soothe, with a plus that one's talent and attention produced something worthwhile. 

How often  does it seem that  a category  titled' It Had To Happen ' meets its match so well?

June in Bloom

  Always a pleasure to see bright colors in a vast green space (slight exaggeration of the adjectives here) and this year is/was no exception. My gardening prowess is limited, as is my vocabulary about such matters,  so I  often simply gamble. First, however, put the brightest colored geraniums in hanging pots to decorate the rear facade of the house. Next, snap up a bevy of flower bulbs early enough so there is bound to be a surprise later in the unfolding shapes and shades of whatever is supposed to spring up in spring.

 Glory  begins when rain comess along  to feed the plants buried deeply (or however) in the soil.    Not a very professional approach but spontaneity certainly does offer the satisfaction of thinking such a wacky scheme  can work.

    That way, too, I can't be disappointed if nothing happens: my own fault, my handicap...though I usually find nature cooperating as long as I tend to this makeshift garden in a loving way.

Aha! Hope has happened. Spring is turning into Summer. Solstice is 'a cumin' in on a heavy blanket of heat, and my humble planter has blossomed with three different colors.  As if to show off the glories of the season.

MAYbe Better Weather

 

        

       May is New York's spring. By contrast, April does better in Washington DC than it does with May, which is when early bloom petals are dropping, or have dropped, creating a messy carpet of brown on the ground. The rest of DC flowering plants cry for rain which is always promised but problematic in delivery. Still 70 degrees and relatively low humidity is a gift, as is the green-greener hue to trees and plants that make DC officially 'The City of Trees."

    Whatever and whenever, it is an annual blessing to be able to watch the renewal of life (and cringe at the accompanying onslaught of pollen), to have the illusion of country in a traffic-bound city. All of which makes the place come to life, literally and figuratively: the final living opening of  theater productions before summer's lull. And to recognize resources that are available year-round, such as the main public library that seems to have turned itself into an urban oasis in every way. Scheduled free events (mostly), in competition with the museums on the nearby Mall.

 Praise be to all before summer kicks in with relentless heat and hungry mosquitoes.....

        

    Except that 'residents' of our fabled Congressional Cemetery no longer can witness the changes, since they are all sleeping soundly (one presumes) in the ground. Unlike what its name suggests, the historic35-acre landscape in far Southeast DC has nothing to do with Congress - merely a  honorary title linked to some of its early often fabled inhabitants. It began as a temporary receiving space (as an official brochure describes it) for presidents and cabinet members in a day when methods of preserving bodies has not yet been perfected. It is now a permanent home for dozens of individuals of varying degrees of fame and even notoriety. And it offers solace to many living people who have bought plots in advance of their demise, and who might now proudly sport a tee shirt with the words 'future resident' of the CC.

Many years ago, the so-called green burial plots were novel and the cemetery didn't miss a beat in selling wee plots for just such people who didn't want to leave the world engulfed in chemicals and solid noncompostable containers.   Hence, the name that promises quick removal to the ground in a wicker basket along with the privilege of saying goodbye with a program or reception in and around the modest chapel on the grounds. Welcome to a sample  spot below, marked by simple stones, overseen in the photo by a friend of the still living owner. There are some notable neighbors - not far away is the very grand final resting place of the founder of the Marine Band,  John Philip Sousa born on Capitol Hill on November 1806. An elaborate ceremony commemorating the man on that date every year includes includes a panoply of talented Marine Band members.

   Neighbors and strangers are invited to enjoy the grounds  of this outdoor sanctuary on various occasions. The latest such public event is a half-mile  self-guided 'Tree Walk Through History among species that have witnessed much of the  past life in American history. Called the 'Arboretum Walking Tour' the project intends to be an educational experience and what the non-profit calls "an evolving biodiverse community of trees.'  Some 25 trees are being marked with both common and scientific names open for viewing year-round.

April reigns/rains on...

 Just thinking, while  the weather changes lives -  dramatically from day to day:

        So much of what happens in DC is out of sight and not necessarily for evasive reasons. There is a commonsense mission in playing hard-to-get, an alluring and fascinating motive. It's not necessarily   the current trend of belonging to 'private clubs' for members onlhy (ah, the privilege of being able to afford such a thing). It's a snobbery (ouch, not really the right word) of another kind. The ability to seek out and take advantage of special places that don't really need advertising, to be an insider of sorts in the search for special and unusual places open to the public if the public has smarts enough to know about them. Word-of-mouth messaging, you might say.

    One such place is a private home on a certain street in the Northeast not far from H St. where the owner hosts dinners that he creates for anyone informed of the experience and has the will to spend a goodly penny ((say upward of $200 or so) and the desire to have a communal experience, likely with strangers unless a certain generous someone wants to host a party.. To be surprised about what is contained in each of the 7 or so courses; to  welcome entertainment throughout from the owner/chef himself. And the only way to reserve is through Instagram  (@reikinadc)or by clicking on experiencereikina@gmail.com  or, as I discovered on a whim, ringing the bell on a certain ground level door heralded by a blue light (turned on only at night). The word is passed along by someone who has been there, who can remember the address and who is in no way paid to do so. That host/owner/chef has sterling credentials (hot spots in Houston and on a Michelin starred DC restaurant). The entrepreneur in this case is Thomas Stacy ("chef & owner" reads his card).

 Here is a sample notice sent to two couples who reserved seats in mid-March, along with 'suggested donation,' cash preferred.

    I had been tipped off by a friend who reported on her evening (7 to 10:30 p.m.) praising the quality of the food. He greeted me, a stranger, warmly when I rang the bell, interrupting some sort of musical session happening next to the communal table (for 8 or 10 ) assume).  Sure, he would call back he told me, though never had. Maybe the word is out in enough circles so that he doesn't need or want to circulate more information. He welcomes cash above all, and surely is not wanting to fuss about licensing or taxes.

    Another  successful low-key operation is a small bar with snacks and colorful cocktails  hidden without any notice down an alley off of H St. NE near the Atlas Theater complex. Called Providencia (take the name literally as the providence of pleasure, the place is public and open only  Tuesday to Saturday evenings five days a week, from 5 pm to midnight. barprovidenciadc.com will tell you more, as will a positive article about the place in the Washington Post on March 21 this year. 

It is intended to  be a late night club of sorts for anyone wanting an offbeat thrill - a club without membership requirements or barriers at the entrance.  What was once a flower shop (Not the Little Shop of Horrors at all) has become a business owned and operated by a lively group of young professionals using their Latin and Asian heritages to supply just a small but enticing menu to accompany the most innovative drinks around. For those already familiar with the Cambodian-Taiwanese restaurant Maketto, the name of Erik Bruner-Yang will be familiar. Prices range from $4 to $24 for food items and $9 to $18 for inventive cocktails. I had a lilac concoction topped by popcorn...

March On

     

Take hope when you can - when you can see tulips and other brave floral shoots pushing upwards against the tide of change. Pre-spring signs like these give hope but certainly not without some reservations.  We are stuck in a middle world.  

Look for signs of eccentricity among your fellow travelers. Individuality prevailing over the norm. Speaking out as opposed to  hiding out. With fair weather it's possible to take some pleasure in the public life of strangers. The sight of a tall thin man roughly dressed and seemingly unconcerned: worn black jeans low on his hips - not his waist -  while he strolls along a downtown street. How does he maneuver with this attire?  He has underwear that may have duct tape hidden in the side?  What is the purpose of the pose? Likely it is to provoke, like tulips do on a wet cold day.

Washington DC isn't often thought to be a place of surprises in the public sphere: But surely  - like New York City  and especially Manhattan - there are surprises galore if you look around often enough. Mostly from the ground rather than from a car.

And so today, the 19th, looking at spring's official beginning on the 20th, I was watching out and ready to take any opportunity to interact with strangers. No better place than a Metro car wherre I was seated alone in a two-seat place and soon joined by a woman carrying what appeared to be a fresh bunch of roses. Each one of them so perfect; all different colors. I thought they might be fake. But seeing my interest, she passed them my way - was she even offering me to take them, I wondered at first. I leaned down to have a smell, and then carefully feel them. They seemed unreal. "Mother doesn't know what to do with them," I think I heard her say - supposing these were a gift. They were properly wrapped in plastic, and I never thought I would be the recipient and so thanked her for letting me have a sniff. We shared that moment: that was enough. Not a great word exchange but an understanding of some kind. It was mid-afternoon but the car was crowded. Maybe this was the famous federal afternoon shift for workers who come in early and so leave around 2 or 3. Traffic patterns have changed under the new regime; no telling the sense of change in people's minds and habits because of the great DOGE deluge.

Onward, to whatever may happen but stay in touch...

And this word looking forward: The Folger Library has decided to go all-out for a renewed Shakespeaare Birthday celebration for the first time in years, during which renovation curtailed most public events  No one is certain of his exact birth date so it made sense for this august scholarly institution to schedule it on a Saturday, April 19 ane turn it into a grand free family affairs (registration required), with the new director taking the podium to pronounce on the familiar subject of the relevance of the Grand Old Man in today's world.

 

February Fog

 

Politics makes and breaks, especially in the fraught days of a new and bewildering government scene.

So there may be little to do but stand watch and prepare to move, whenever or however.

Meanwhile, keep an eye on good omens, weather, judges.

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As always, I try a bit of underground resistance by currying favor whenever I can with strangers, and especially so with strangers on the street or in stores - those  not too strung out their phones or URL codes that have become annoyingly ubiquitous. Seek 'em out where they are to create an instant community of two or three.   Spontaneity will help save us all sometimes. Hence, on my way home from the local Trader Joe store, I stop two uniformed guys with shovels outside the luxury apartment building called the Residences on Capitol Hill . I want to know what is the substance they are about to put down on the sidewalk, in preparation for a major snow fall likely to happen that night. Is the pink stuff - looks like candy fluff - really ok for animals with sensitive feet?  The chemicals undoubtedly are strong. One of the two goes immediately to the trash can nearby to show me the cover of a big plastic bag that contained the 'poison,' known as ice melt. (So pedestrians won't sue the rental company should anyone get injured in a fall???!!) I see the words pet friendly, or pet safe - what is invariably how the manufacturer covers its bets. I learn from the man in charge that there are basically three levels of such protective commercial covering, dependent on price. The ultimate product is very expensive, he indicates; his team has chosen the middle ground.

My message is something of a cliche - since normally who would argue against strangers meeting up and exchanging civil words. 

Right - and at home I've also bought similar stuff from my local hardware store, the only difference being that it is an off white color. So what is its composition and how much should I apply? SUch are the mysteries of everyday life. It turns out (after a long night of falling snow) the medicine only works under certain situations, dependent on temperatures. We guess out way through this life and these times..

My here message is something of a cliche - since normally who would argue against strangers meeting up and exchanging civil words.  But these are not normal times, to judge by public harangues. Why should Apple feel it necessary to add cautionary, even pleading, words automatically  up front whenever a person is dialing/seeking help on Apple Support. The brief but insistent phrase asks a caller to be kind to the person on the other line - a professional paid by the company to help the caller. It implies the company has no faith their customers will be civil - and so a common sense reminder is necessary.

"Hmm, that must be new," said the in-store Apple employe when I quizzed her shortly afterwards about the practice.  So, we have to conclude, manners are in short supply and rudeness reigns.

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"Only connect"  - politely. Which - to continue the theme - is primarily what  Travellers Aid volunteers do when strangers seek their help to navigate what is likely an entirely new and changing scene. Such goodwill messengers are there to invite passersby to use volunteers knowledge of airport layout and services. For many of the public it is a big learning experience to know about the Sunflower program that helps identify passengers with 'special needs,' usually accompanied by someone; that over 1300 lanyards (showing a sunflower sysmbol visible to all) were passed out in 2024. The program still is new and growing.

As for the volunteers themselves, they are as varied on airplane passengers: a 94-year-old woman only recently considered retiring from the job she has had since 2015. Another is a retired eye doctor wanting to be out among people - mindful that his professional background is not really applicable. There are military veterans, single adults wanting company  and liking helping others. Their training is intense, given that many such positions are in sensitive secure areas of the building. True to form, some potential dramas can occur. Such as the time a young new to the job volunteer was confronted from behind her stand (where buttons exist for emergency help in case of need) by a man's seemingly off the wall question:"Where can I turn myself in?"  Was he meaning to report some illegal substance in his carryon or possibly some seemingly more practical question, such as where might he report mistakenly holding another person's property? Ah, the volunteer took no chances and  immediately called on airport police to take care of the man. They came within minutes...

And some peculiar lost possessions might get left behind by people - boxing gloves, for instance - that eventually find their owners when a volunteer knows where such missing objects are housed in the vast territory an airport covers.

--Intermission of sorts  ----------------------------------------A- Preview of coming attractions.....

A garden of delight is promised soon, when the annual camellia show takes place in my yard.

And a reminder that  this blog exists  for two reasons:

    One is to highlight what some people might call lesser attractions to be found in the greater Washington area: programs, exhibits, even behaviors that are unusual and usually welcoming. Just recently while standing on a Metro platform during a three-day interruption of normal service, I was trying to figure out what train I needed to take to a station I seldom visit. Seeing my confusion, a young man nearby asked if he could help and then asked how long  had I been visiting the city.  A startling statement for someone who has lived here nearly 50 years....though, of course, you can always teach an old dog new tricks. I followed up his kindness by offering help to a couple sitting near me on  the next train I took; they seemed bewildered by the system, and suitcases gave me the idea they were real visitors. Smiles ensued...

                                                                A second mission  : share personal experiences living in both rural and urban places  (D.C. and Montana) when it would seem the words rural and urban are out of date and apply only subjectively.  'Urbanities' has a long reach these days.

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   A reminder: What's old is always new or at least reinvented   again, as a visit to the latest exhibit at the handsome and imposing Folger Shakespeare Library proves. In spades, one could say - if spades include lace ruffs, diamonds, garters and  such ilk. "How to be a Power Player: Tudor Edition" runs through July 22 on Capitol Hill. The address is clue to the exhibit's  theme - one that mirrors the power plays and status games taking place there and down the hill on Pennsylvania Avenue today. (If we didn't really install a new monarch, we have elected someone who acts like a king with courtiers all around.)

    A pity on us all, one might say. But the Folger says it better with a bountiful display of old manuscripts and letters, pithy explanatory material brought together in a top-notch very readable and beautiful design. Imagine being able to glimpse at real materials (letters, etc.) from the 15th and 16th centuries. Technically, we are talking 1485 and 1603 during the reigns of three generations of monarchs in England and Wales - including, of course, that of the famously famous  Queen Elizabeth 1.

    Yes, it's a complicated history, and fascination with it only grows as you circle the display cases taking in the complex rules of deportment, behavior and dress from birth to death. The latter matter was also informed by custom and status above all. The rules are many and fulfillment of them required a heavy investment of time and money. There is so much material to be taken in  by a visitor, accompanied by stunning photos and artifacts It's difficult to understand how people lived under such strict codes but the staff seems to have assembled an entire college history  course  on the early modern world within a few walls.

  So much, too, to grasp in our understanding of how the politics of that time is reflected in current jostling for power, albeit under slightly different rules. (The White House today, we can assume, does not follow the marvelously complex patterns for  folding linen table napkins that the Tudors inherited largely from Italy. We don't seem to go overboard impressing foreign visitors with our cuisine - not beyond what is normal for a formal meal in contemporary times. A round white blurb on the front of  the exhibition's  name tells all: 'Learn How To Expand Your Brand, Navigate Scandal, Dominate the Power Lunch, Increase Your Charisma  And More!'

    Need we say more before wishing much of the political hustle tustle of modern life were not so exhausting, though  in quite different ways...

    And this:

        

An Inside the Season conversation for Whose Democracy?

Saturday, March 1, 11am | Free, registration required

From celebrations of identity to shows of protest, parades have been central to our culture. With Mardi Gras on the horizon, the Folger considers how pageantry has led to civic participation and provided shows of power.

Join us for a drop-in crafting session from 11am-1pm to make your own paper plate tambourine and learn more about how parades are represented in the Folger collection with a pop-up collection viewing of items not usually on display at 11:30am and 12:30pm.

All ages welcome!

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SEIZE THE DAY AND THE MONTH

 

January 2025  - a new year, new possibilities whatever is your outlook on  national and world events. Father (why not Mother?) Time always marching (to the tune of different drummers).

Nearly the New Year as December 's Solstice Beckons...

 

            The advantage of December is the sensation of living both in  past and future time: New Year ahead, old year disappearing. Opportunity to look back and ahead simultaneously. This gives rise in some people to make lists - dos and don't, the 'done' and the 'finished with.'  We are floating...

Continued...as the year moves on to yet another number and letter (N which leads into a D....)...

 NOVEMBER (11)

    More of Continued': The saga of the volunteer  at one of the eight DCA airport Travelers Aid  desks where, invariably,  no question goes unanswered if and when the desk is being staffed, since there are never enough of these good citizens appaarently. Resourcefulness often is required  - at least in one case where the volunteer could not immediately  respond to a question about  names of architects and artists involved in the renovation in the main DCA entry hall.. A passerby wanted to know who was responsible for the design on the ceiling - and how, curiously and probably purposefully, the numerous patterns  high above the glass-enclosed space resembled the shape of the U.S. Capitol. (Photo to come...) Aha, my friend said, I can look that up for you on the spot. Such details are not routine as part of the many hours of training volunteers receive.

    Should she be really baffled by a strange language or encounter, even a worrisome one, there are human resources at hand by phone or,  should a fearful encounter ensue, a tiny emergency button is located a finger away out of sight under the desk.   Not surprisingly either, a volunteer finds he of she is getting an education daily about people and the world around them  that is such a fast-paced environment. 

    Ceiling of Regan National Airport's main entrance: a domed concept from architect Cesar Pelli, said to have been inspired in some respects by Thomas Jefferson;s Monticello. Glorious light and symmetry. The illusion of flying inspace.

t officials don't supply much information for visitors on paper. The sole pamphlet I could find one recent Tuesday afternoon at an unoccupied desk was a small folding map of the National Mall, since that is where a large majority of the millions coming through DC as tourists will end up. Likewise, volunteers are well equipped to give directions on the best way to the Mall, said to be the most popular (in numbers) yearly of all the US National Parks.Also see below: now happening at Reagan National DCA ( and other major airports locally.)

    Sunflower Lanyards

The Hidden Disabilities Sunflower Program was first launched in May 2016 at London Gatwick Airport. This program allows individuals with invisible disabilities to be discreetly identified. It serves as a prompt for someone to discreetly make airport personnel aware that they may need a helping hand, patience, or simply more time.

Lanyards can be picked up from the USO or pre-security Information desks between 10:00am and 6:00pm. New to Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport is  enhanced living feature known as an optimal dining experience via entrepreneur Jose Andres. Go to Gate D to see The Landing - but take money! 

More than 1300 lanyards  were handed out in 2024.

Back to the TA desk and my friend the ever vigilant volunteer host:  Unexpectedly, she found herself with a stranger coming up to her and asking "where are the police. I want to turn myself in." He was in no way distraught, a calm seemingly benevolent man. As duty dictates, she immediately dialed up the airport police number and soon a squad of ten uniformed men appeared. Nothing untoward occurred -- and she doesn't know the outcome. Had this man come up with some ruse or had guilt suddenly overtaken him? A question to answer...

The monthly newsletter for volunteers (travelersaiddca@MWAA.com  routinely contains fully accounts of the 'strangers' who sit behind the welcome desk for 3 or more hours at a time, waiting to be addressed. The former eye doctor who had retired and found the work satisfying since he felt part of the working world again

EAT UP

Other good news to report on for consumer consumption (literally). The ever-entrancing remarkable Folger Shakespeare Library has at last announced opening of the Quill and Crumb Cafe (November 22,  Friday). Open to the public with varying hours, mostly closing hours, depending on the day of the week.  No need to call ahead to reserve as one must do for a complete tour of the building.

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BACK TO BILLINGS

This  metal statue, an intrigingly sculptural form atop the city's Rim (capitalized always) seems to be taking in the entire landscape in front of him - Montana's largest city laid out beneath him. Or maybe a her - as there seems to be a child in tow, attached as though part of the larger body form. This is whimsy at its best, captivating and mysterious, a pleasing sight along the trail.

The Octo Month

 

    What's to cheer except weather?   Indigenous Peoples Day coming along when many (most?) students are free from school (perhaps not the best way to put it).

    The season also breeds more interest in cooking, with the dark creeping in stealthily and earlier each day. This affliction of mine - a hobby, you might say - takes over when I must face the fact it is really addiction. The reasons why I cling NYTimes Cooking so much are many but doubtless in this 'older age' (when doesn't the term apply?) I am reminded of the importance of pleasure in a fulfilling life. Of the need to be distracted (lest the body speak up with an uncertainty), sure of at least one routine: following a well researched recipe, (NYT is tops at this for sure) - a sense of security there I think, though no certainty I will have good results. I simply am not patient enough, and unwilling to think about the importance of proportions. Dividing the usual four person amount so that just one is satisfied: resistance to having an extra step and the sure thing I will then feel cheated. Oh how deep can I go with this subject: the practice/hobby/whatever forces a person to concentrate and thereby less prone to mindless wandering.

    Plus, at least with NYT, so much learning is involved and sometimes stretching of the mental muscles  brought about by reading a well written formula just like reading a deceptively simple aggregation of knowledge (the NYT both digital and print) and intelligent use of language. At the root of it all, I now believe, is a compulsion for order and for belonging. Why not in sharing recipes with unknown recipients of NYTImes Cooking newsletters, etc.? Bonding with  strangers,  engaging in a 'fruitful endeavor' that might produce some satisfaction of sorts...depending on willingness to comply with the rules. I seem to rush through the occasion, holding back any sense of triumph when I'm seldom satisfied.  

Realistically, what emotion I felt upon the completion wasn't/isn't the point. THe point was to finish the job, to 'have done something' and momentarily stave off a sense of hopelessness and singleness. When company is about, I go in the opposite direction: too much worry over outcomes, being judged, etc.

Ah, the forever anxieties we can invent for ourselves.

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    Not so the friend  of mine who decided, upon becoming suddenly by accident  a widow - a  truly horrible shock. She created her own partial antidote to the feeling of loneliness that followed: by deciding  to not spend a lot of time alone, knowing  that otherwise depression  might take over her life. She volunteered for a host of activities (an old habit she had anyway - so she just increased the kind and number). An acquaintance mentioned working behind the Travelers Aid information/help desks at the airport. In this case, Reagan National - a biggie where security is super important, given that it is US politicians' main entrance and exit to the city. Congress calls the shots here, along with Homeland Security, and other agencies of rank overseeing sensitive vulnerable public arenas. (SEE NOVEMBER)

     To be front person for strangers  requires a wealth of training and, once hired, no money but free parking (supposing enough spots are free) and the promise of  feeling good while helping others. Such people - there are eight desks at Reagan National alone -  get backup security if they need it:  the emergency button only a finger away  behind the desk. It takes patience and savvy to know whom to call if a question or stumps one of them. My friend regularly handles busy Sunday evening shifts  when passengers are returning home or taking late day planes. 

A sense of humor  can be useful: Seeing a Security sign warning passengers they  would not be able to go back through the entry  leading to departing planes, a woman asked if that meant she would not be able to go back that way upon her return home.  "Don't worry," my friend said, easing the woman's fears. "They let you get back into the city."

    Such is the nature of life in an international  city where the word culture also can apply to particular  and unusual habits and behaviors (and experiences) that are germane to that city only.

Ah, the Breath of Autumn

     

Sorry to say but this so-called September note is verging into an early October dateline. Stay tuned below!

     Then embarrassingly enough, the days become a new month and an entirely new outlook: more on future than past. Weather creates a model, a pattern of slow-slow, quick-quick. Temperatures up and down. Hot and cool. Delicious to observe, to enjoy changes.

    Beware: What you see as often as not really can be believed, even more so if music is supplied. But what if what you are dealing with A1 magic and its wizardly rays? What you see then is likely perhaps a fantasy, some mechanical imagination. And, imagine, even when it's happening outdoors!

    So it was on Sunday the 24th on the grounds of Kennedy Center's Reach Plaza, when a so-called data sculpture was on show in an enormous 10 square meter black cube created by digital artist (so the Wash Post said) Refik (could that be 're-fixed?) Anadol (anagram of?) in homage to the Czech composer Antonin Dvorak. A soundscape with moving parts that seemed to make sense only to listeners and viewers who already knew the music. The sound blared, the children played - how few of them seemed really curious beyond trying to touch the screen. The tape or whatever it was kept rolling, repeating insanely for a 16-minute run. Ok: so what if a Czech billionaire was the sponsor (and major Kennedy Center donor). The spectacle isn't a new one apparently:  commissions are the artist's forte for dramatic settings such as the opening of the Las Vegas sphere last year. It took a newspaper article to explain what was going on - so pity those who stumbled upon the scene without having done their homework. "Dvorak Dreams" is the title. Results, admittedly - even to critics, are uneven. But long live the creative process in whatever form. 

    The danger I felt is its capacity to anethesize an audience. Spontaneity, live musicality, are naturally elusive in such work. I don't question that my immediate reaction was to pursue more seriously than ever the value of reaching out to people - strangers - in casual encounters, to feel elicit some real contact the way someone might feel listening to a live concert performed by human beings who have mastered the ability to create sound and make it seem spontaneous.

    

    So much of Washington's history and 'culture' (in broadest sense) is lost - or can be - to outsiders, tourists, etc. Residents don't often catch up to the best of it all unless by accident or by paying close attention to the online announcements that proliferate endlessly on emails and gmails. To wit, I grew fond of the still-nascent institution DC History Center (complicated by a better known Washington history section at the  MLK Library downtown) by a casual visit to the elegant former Carnegie Library building that occupies a block of Mt. Vernon Square. Which IS the square, in fact. Apple is spread over the entire first floor. DC History is downstairs with a commanding feature on the still evolving history of so-called home rule.  But this past weekend (we now are talking  October 5, the Center sponsored a number of free tours - one on the building itself and another (both of them an hour long) on the colorful alleys that can be found only by looking off the main streets.

     Think the neighborhood of Shaw, and the name Blagden Alley, one of the best preserved-while-still=evolving landmarks. It is, most of it now, under an historic preservation statute so that a tour such as one I had on a bustling Saturday could only happen under auspices of the Center and their foresight in hiring a commercial business called Off the Mall Walking Tours, led by a spirited Katie Kirkpatrick. She does as many as three different themed tours on peak days each month.. Blagden was a draw for sure. She encompassed history and present day worlds - so that at one time we are hearing about immigration of formerly enslaved people from the South (and before that the fact that  DC land was forested or swampy, never just what famous Pierre L'Enfant brought to bear later). How visual and vital such an area was throughout its slow settlement. Who lived there and how. Up to present day residents in habiting proudly what were formerly stables and even hospitals for horses and dogs, plus the mysterious fronts of several other closein addresses. (Insomniac - a bar? Death reads one plaque: a restaurant or a joke?)

    So much to take in and so lively a scene. Indeed, one sign points to an alley history center all its own - likely encompassing many other similar hidden spaces though few as well maintained as Blagden is today.

    Other thoughts on the season: Skies are clear and air clean enough that sometimes it's possible to hear background noises in a neighborhood that could be equally a political demonstration or a church service, the Marine Baracks on Capitol Hill  playing taps or the sound of someone's car radio through open windows.