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Author: Anne Cassidy

January Sky

January Sky

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It’s a good time of year to look up. I snapped this shot just before getting on Metro yesterday. It was later than I would like to have been leaving, but it gave me the chance to see the sky on fire.

It was a quieter sky this morning, one mottled with clouds but striking in its own way.  I took this photograph while walking around the block at the Courthouse Metro Station, which it how I occupy myself when I’ve just missed the bus.

Two mornings, two cloudscapes, both ripe for the picking. All I needed to do was stop, point and shoot. But it can be hard even to take the time to do this.  How many other sky shots have I missed?

Downton Time

Downton Time

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The Christmas ornaments are packed away. The tree is awaiting pickup by the street. The last fir needle is (I think) vacuumed off the floor.

All of which means … it’s Downton time. Or at least it used to be.

The urge to watch “Downton Abbey” had been growing in me for days. The U.S. airing of that show on PBS’s “Masterpiece Theater” was always perfectly timed, I thought. It would begin here the first full weekend after the holidays, and was a perfect respite to the post-Christmas letdown.

No need to mourn it, though, not in the age of streaming. Last night, I settled down in the beanbag chair to watch Downton all over again, courtesy of Amazon Prime.

What a sight it was was after two years away—and eight years since the first episode: the opulence and the intrigue, the dresses and the jewelry, the upstairs and the downstairs. Seeing it again means I savor the details with full knowledge of what comes afterward: Lord Grantham’s generosity, Anna’s kindness to Bates.

It wasn’t until I glanced at the clock on the VCR player that it dawned on me what I’d done. It was 9 p.m. Without meaning to I was watching the show at exactly the same hour it always aired. As Downton often reminds us: Old habits die hard.

Revelations

Revelations

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In classical Greek it meant the manifestation of a deity to a worshipper. But now the word epiphany can mean other revelations, as well. Just as our society has become more secular, so too have our revelations. We can have epiphanies about our work, our families, our politics.

But to me, all epiphanies have a bit of the divine in them. And it is in part because of epiphanies, the aha moments that come from nowhere, that I believe in the divine.

Because one moment the world is pitiless plain—and the next it is lush mountains and valleys. What can explain the difference? No atoms or molecules, no assemblage of 1s and 0s.

It is wonder, plain and simple. It is waking inside the rainbow. It is the star, a light in the sky that leads us to the divine.

The Shutdown Continues…

The Shutdown Continues…

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As the government shutdown closes in on the two-week mark, the D.C. area is feeling like both a ghost town and a seething caldron.

Last night on the radio I heard the story of a 71-year–old woman who’s raising two of her grandchildren and is furloughed from her federal job. She needs every penny of every paycheck for her car note, mortgage, groceries and other expenses. She says she feels like a pawn.

We all do. It’s the only shutdown to span two Congresses, which makes it doubly ridiculous.

With two government employees in the family, I’m following this story with great interest. Will it end this week? Unlikely. Next week? I hope.

Until then, it’s a matter of staying calm—and keeping my own job, of course!

(A photo of the Capitol taken when the season was spring and the government was open.) 

Keeping it Real

Keeping it Real

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Every year on New Year’s Day, the Washington Post‘s Style section features an “In-Out” list. As the years pass, I understand fewer references. But I always get enough of them (Out: Meghan Markle; In: Megan Markle’s baby) to glean a smile or two from the whole thing.

The item that made me laugh the most this year was number two in the hit parade:
Out: Keep Portland Weird.  In: Keep Crystal City Weird.

As I type these words I look out the window at Crystal City—its military precision, its empty buildings and plazas (even emptier now during the government shutdown), its anything-but-weirdness.

Yes, I feel a bit protective of this Arlington neighborhood, where I slog three or four mornings a week; where you’re more likely to see a soldier in camouflage than an artist in grunge; where even the foliage is orderly (see above).

Avant-garde it ain’t.

But it’s my workplace now, and I’ve come to terms with its straight-arrow ways. So as HQ2 moves in, I’ll be on the lookout for creeping signs of Left Coast-ness. Let’s keep Crystal City … uh, Crystal City.

Leaning Tower of Christmas

Leaning Tower of Christmas

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It was, from the start, the tree that couldn’t stand straight. In part, it had no choice. With a curved trunk, it just saw the world a little differently, that’s all. But even when cut and tamed and taken in by a loving family, the tree persisted in its wayward ways.

It took two straightening sessions, the first before it was strung with lights and the second when it was fully decked out with delicate ornaments—and still, it started leaning again.  The new stand may have been the culprit. Or it may just have been the tree itself.

Whatever the cause, I knew by the time I woke up yesterday that the tree was coming down soon, one way or another. I wanted it to be on our terms, not the tree’s. So yesterday we did the sad duty: removed the ornaments, tucked them away in boxes; then the lights; and finally, the tree itself, drug unceremoniously out the back door where it was examined again carefully for castaway ornaments.

I used to put Sousa marches on the stereo, looking ahead to summer, when we did this. Yesterday, it was the jazz station WPFW that provided the accompaniment. I left the cards up, and the cloth wreath in the kitchen, and the little stars that hang from the light fixture and the stockings on the mantel, the nutcrackers on the piano and the little holiday lamp that I loved from the first minute I saw it at the Vale Crafts Fair almost 20 years ago.

Could it have been that long? Yes, it could. And in part for that reason, I don’t get as sad anymore when the tree comes down. The years pass quickly. Next Christmas is right around the corner.

Grateful New Year

Grateful New Year

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As we enter a new year, I’m looking back on the old one, on the trips to Thailand, Nepal, Arkansas, Kentucky, Missouri, Florida, Ireland, Washington and Malawi—more travel than I ever thought I’d experience in 12 months.

I think about the people I’ve met on these wanderings—fellow musicians from my youth orchestra in Lexington, child labor advocates in Lilongwe, women safe tempo drivers in Kathmandu.

I think about my own dear family and how thankful I am for them, for our closeness in good times and tough ones. For the walks in Seattle with Celia, the dog romps in Oak Hill with Claire and the long strolls through Arlington with Suzanne.

Now we have a new month and year, a blank calendar, 365 days to fill. I’m writing my resolutions, cleaning my pantry, plotting my approach. As usual, I’m asking myself to worry less and appreciate more.

I wonder if through the years there’s been a gradual ascent, the steady recognition that living with gratitude is the only way to go. I’d like to think there has been, but progress has been miniscule. I’m thankful today that I have another year in which to try.

Zzzzzz!

Zzzzzz!

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I’ll try to make tomorrow’s post brisk and wide-awake and forward-looking.  But today’s is … a celebration of slumber.

That’s because, though I’ve done a bit of visiting, baking, cleaning, reading and movie-watching these last 10 days, what I’ve done most and best of all is sleep.

This is not an insignificant achievement, since sleep is something that often eludes me in the normal course of events. Faced with a slew of hours to fill, I’m glad I’ve filled many with early bedtimes, late mornings and even a three-hour nap!

I’ve enjoyed waking up to light, not darkness; to knowing there’s no Metro to catch or work to do. As January 2 draws nigh, what I will miss most about these lovely, end-of-year days is the ability to roll over and catch some more winks.

Book Notes

Book Notes

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First I started listing them, now I take notes on them, too.

In the continual struggle to hold onto and make sense of what I read, I have for years now typed up notes on the books I want to remember.

From yesterday’s on Origin Story:

Luca is our “last universal common ancestor”— a hypothetical creature, sort of alive but not fully alive, a porous rock that lived at the edge of alkaline oceanic vents. From Luca (and there were many Lucas) all earthly life flows. But it took three billion years to move from Luca to the multicellular organisms that ultimately gave rise to big life.

Or this: the progress of evolution, much like the life of a soldier, consisted of long periods of boredom punctuated by moments of sheer terror. In this case, though, the terror came from mass extinctions, the greatest of which occurred 248 million years ago when 80 percent of all life vanished from the planet probably as the result of massive volcanic eruptions.

The older I get, the more I wish I’d learned when I was younger. But in the case of this book, I console myself with the knowledge that many of these facts weren’t even discovered when I was younger!

Tale of Tears

Tale of Tears

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Speaking of “It’s a Wonderful Life,” I watched it last night. It was the perfect way to end Boxing Day and our two-day celebration at my sister Ellen’s.


Every time I watch the movie (and I watch it almost every year), I’m glad I did. Not many movies hold up to multiple viewings, and the fact that this one does proves its depth of feeling and detail.

I woke up this morning thinking about George Bailey’s righteous indignation (“this rabble you’re talking about, they do most of the working and paying and living and dying in this town”), of the tender scene between George and his mother (played by the actress Beulah Bondi, who was Stewart’s mother on screen five different times) and of Uncle Billy’s animals (the pet crow was actually a pet raven named Jimmy, which Capra used in every film he made starting with “You Can’t Take it With You” in 1938). 

I learned these factoids this morning, and they make me marvel … but it was the beautiful and steady build-up of details last night that left me … as usual when I watch this movie, in tears …