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).
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).
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...
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.
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.
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.
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.
Always the anticipation - will September bring relief from weather and will normal school startups then (mid or late August into the 9th month) change the country's mood. Or your own.
Certainly politics has taken a turn that could be either much better or ?.
WHAT A DIFFERENCE A DAY MAKES - Now on August 19, Democratic Convention with Ms. Harris charging ahead.
And what a difference is WAshington DC in August after humidity (rain sun rain sun) of July. It is a cliche to think the opposite. Less traffic more green even sometimes cool nights and mornings for walking.
Why such a stupendous heat 'storm' locally and nationally? And why do I let it be my excuse for lack of any meaningful activity?
Sure, I helped a friend move from her small house to a medium-sized condo nearby. That led to a short sense of wellbeing, a sense of helping others. But that doesn't carry over to the next day.
Because it's July and the weather seems to be in charge - the unpredictability leading to a wayward mentality no doubt.
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And for distraction, I focus on an old habit: reading, considering and sometimes using New York Times Cooking recipes. Where does the satisfaction come from I ask myself: the urge to collect them is hard to resist, often hard to follow and seldom produces satisfactory results. I concede this is probably a solitary woman's subject probably a holdover from pandemic activity's closet life. I surmise it is admiration for the orderliness of instructions, the promised evocation of good tastes and smells. No doubt it is the anticipation that brings joy. In any event, I doubt I share the compulsion with anyone I know. So much the better then.
And so it is when I go for a trim with Walter - to have the attention of another person,, however brief, and see accomplishment in the result, however imperfect. Clip, clip, clip he goes on relentlessly, matching talk to the sound of the scissors. He begins by asking a polite question - something about 'where have you been traveling' or such. Soon the session becomes a series of anecdotes, observations, advice. He has just yesterday perhaps had a slight stroke, he says, but he knows how to ease out of it - by taking off his shoes and walking slowly outside on the grass, all the while breathing slowly, in and out, focusing on calming his nerves so his heart slows. A neighbor saw him and told his wife who screamed thoughtfully, insisting on taking him to an emergency room. He obliges her - now that he has conquered the tremor - but the medical team probably agrees that he has had a small slight stroke. Ah, but he is undaunted. He has solutions to prolonging life: watermelon juice, daily round of salt in hot water - "since what they give you first thing when you go there is a sodium injection,' (he thinks).
The stories go on, of past encounters low and high: about being asked to 'do the hair' of certain high end government officials at some super secure event before such people were to take the stage or sit before a camera. How, one time, a woman begged him to let her come along as his so-called assistant but when he obliged, she broke down with nerves, drank too much and had to be ejected from the scene.That was the last time I'll ever do that, he confesses. He confesses so much while his fingers move with such finality through my ever shorter locks. He wants me to have 'a certain look,' not like anyone else - he says. Younger and more vital. We are in this together, this aging thing.