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Author: Anne Cassidy

Other People’s Houses

Other People’s Houses

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You can call it a bed and breakfast, an Airbnb or a VRBO (Vacation Rental By Owner), but when you come right down to it, you’re staying in someone else’s house. Someone you didn’t know before and will probably never see again.

But while you’re there (here), you become intimately acquainted with the play of morning light on window blinds, the amount of pressure required to turn the faucet, the location of the bathroom light switch so you can flick it on in the dark.

I’m a private person, one who doesn’t take naturally to early morning conversation with strangers while making a cup of tea … but somehow, this works for me.

It’s calming to stay in a house rather than a hotel. It feels as if I’m part of a community and not just visiting. And indeed I am — just one member of a band of travelers who want to see a place from the inside out.

Peak Experience

Peak Experience

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The Chief Sealth Trail winds its way through southeastern Seattle for almost five miles. Though I’d read about it in my Airbnb welcome note and tried to find it on a map, it was proving elusive to pinpoint — at least in cyberspace.

In the long run I literally ran into it. Walking down 32nd Street, I saw a rise, an opening, a grassy meadow, a break in the cityscape. It was the trail!

I turned left, and the sight almost took my breath away. There was Mount Rainier looming large in the sunset sky.  I couldn’t find an angle that didn’t involve power lines, but there it was, Seattle’s iconic mountain.

When I reached my place, I told Cris, Airbnb host, how excited I was to spot the peak. Oh yes, she said. But you can see it from our house, too. She led me to the dining room window, pointed off in the distance. And there it was again, only slightly less imposing.

Sometimes, peak experiences are closer than you think.

A Walker in Seattle

A Walker in Seattle

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We’ve been walking up hills and down, from Pioneer Square to the International District, then hopping a bus to Ballard where we walked some more.  We chugged up hills as steep as San Francisco’s, and stopped at a local watering hole for sustenance.

I’ve already walked one route twice, from my Airbnb to Celia’s place. And last night I finally found the Chief Sealth Trail (more about that later).

For now, I’ll just say that Seattle has rolled out its grandest strolling weather for this walker in the suburbs. … walker in Seattle, I should say.

Coast to Coast

Coast to Coast

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Speaking of “above it all,” … I’m about to take off for Seattle, a flight from Washington, D.C., to Washington State. In fact, I’m writing this at Dulles Airport while a history program on the popes of Avignon — “the papacy was more or less captured by the king of France” — drones on the television.

From one extreme  — an expanse of sky; the miracle of flight; a miracle, period — to the other, the absurdity of the particular.

Modern travelers are strung between these two. The wonder of the firmament outside, cramped seats and coffee inside.

Here’s hoping that the miraculous part of this flight holds up its end of the bargain.

Above It All

Above It All

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A few hours before Tuesday’s monuments tour, my colleagues and I gathered on a rooftop to share drinks and dinner. This is the view that greeted us.

I’ve lived here for decades and never before seen a rainbow over the Washington Monument. It looks like there should be a pot of gold buried somewhere at its base — but I didn’t find it when we visited later that night.

It was the view that was golden: The city spread out at our feet, the low buildings, the honeycomb of highways, the late-day light.

Monuments at Night

Monuments at Night

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Last night, a tour of the Washington, D.C., monuments at night. There was Lincoln, the great man’s right foot protruding slightly, as if he were about to push himself up and walk out to greet the beleaguered citizens gathered there.

What would he say? What could he say? Seeing him made me long for a statesman or stateswoman, someone larger than life who will come to save us all, who will do the right thing no matter the political consequences.

The scale of the monuments only grows in the darkness. Darkness is what we had last night — a rich, warm darkness that meant we could stroll around in shirt sleeves the second week of October. But darkness is what we have in a metaphorical sense, too. And that darkness isn’t as comfortable.

I took heart from the lights and the sounds, the throngs of people staying up late to see the marble and the fountains, those who — I hope — still believe.

Decluttering Times Two

Decluttering Times Two

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Am I the last of a dying breed? Not just a dying breed, but a unique breed — perhaps one of the only generations that must manage both digital and actual files? I’ve spent part of an evening pulling photographs off an old computer that is less-than-accessible due to charging issues, and as I’ve been doing so, I’ve wondered, do we have any parallels in history?

Were there once people who had to contend with both stone tablets and papyrus? With the scroll and the codex?

As the pace of change increases, the pace of managing that change falls on the shoulders of those who not only have a crammed-full hard disk but also scores of musty, sagging boxes in the basement.

Where to start? How to proceed? One must be ruthless on both scores, I suppose, must pitch the papers and books — plus ancient computer files, too. Yesterday was a good day for that, with a sheaf of papers recycled at the office, and desktop computer files trashed at home. It’s a bit like bailing out the ocean with a thimble — but it’s a start.

(How many of these need to go? Quite a few!)

Creeping Numeralism

Creeping Numeralism

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It was called the zoning improvement plan, but went by its chipper acronym, Zip. And it wasn’t adapted quickly, wrote John Kelly in yesterday’s Washington Post. Zip codes met with “pockets of resistance,” he said, including from the White House, which omitted “20500” from its official stationery, even though President Lyndon Johnson had ordered federal agencies to start using the five-digit code a month or so earlier, in June 1965.

Americans may have been sick of numbers, Kelly said. Three years earlier they’d had to start including Social Security numbers on their tax returns. That same year, 1962, AT&T introduced “all-number” calling — which put an end to such notable exchanges as BUtterfield 8 and MUrray Hill 6. 
In fact, Kelly reports, there was an “Anti-Digit Dialing League” created to fight “creeping numeralism.” 
I wonder what the anti-numeralists would think of life in 2018. Today I created three new passwords, all letter-number-symbol combinations. In the course of doing that I was sent at least four different codes that would expire in minutes or hours. Numbers were texted to me, which I then used to create new letter-number codes. 
As I wrote recently, the world has been heading toward numeralism for at least 400 years. Now we have Zip-plus-four. Put me in the words column, though. I’ll fight “creeping numeralism” wherever I find it. 
(Mr. Zip courtesy Wikipedia)
Fading Beauty

Fading Beauty

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The wedding was at 5 p.m., but there was time to meander along a Meadowlark Garden trail toward Lake Gardiner, to see the late-summer salvia and coleus, the asters and ornamental grasses.

It had been cloudy most of the day, but the sun had come out a few hours earlier and warmed the air.

With each turn of the gravel trail the eye took in another artful arrangement of fern and grass and frond.

What a balm for the spirit is a mellow fall afternoon, the air just warm enough, the scent of crisp leaves. After the frenetic growth of summer, the fading is welcome. The beauty seems to come from the fading. And there is comfort in that.

Two-Walk Day

Two-Walk Day

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Walking early this morning and walking again later, I hope. The two-walk day is one I’ve come to appreciate. Walks like bookends, like brackets. Walks that hold you up, that wake you up, that keep you sane.

I’ve always felt this way, but lately more than ever.

For what is a life but the steps we take of it, the twists and turns we make of it. The people we help along the way.

The two-walk day gives me twice as long to ponder these truths and mysteries.