Browsed by
Author: Anne Cassidy

Labyrinth

Labyrinth

Last night the pavement unfurled like a gift. It caught my feet and led me through the dark. It gave me room to breathe.

Earlier in the evening, October fireflies crawled up from the ground, blinking as yellow as the road marks I wrote about yesterday. If the fireflies could do it, so could I.

So I donned a headlamp and reflective vest and took off down the newly lined road.

The air was cool on my arms; it had the weight of summer air. It buoyed me as I strode past lamplit houses. It calmed me with its passage.

Last night, the road was my labyrinth.

Yellow Lines

Yellow Lines

The trees are starting to turn, just the first hints of yellow and gold. And Folkstone Drive is following suit. After weeks and months of being a work in progress, the road has two long yellow stripes down the middle of it.

It picks up the mood of the season. Bright yellow school buses, crisp orange leaves, and, if you’re lucky, a stand of Black-eyed-Susans, though more far gone than these.

Yesterday’s walk took me up and back beside the new yellow lines.

It was a still, warm afternoon that held me as I sauntered. It was good to be walking.

Green and Gray

Green and Gray

Ireland seems like another world already. It is another world, of course, or at least another country. But it’s one I’m going to imagine now, because the fields are so green and the stones are so gray and the two go so well together.

There was a feeling there that everything will be all right in the end. A strange feeling, when you think about the history of the place. But a cozy, warm feeling.

Maybe it’s the gallows humor there or the expectations, which aren’t as high as those on this side of the Atlantic. But whatever it is, I’m going to be drawing on it today.

Mellow Sunshine

Mellow Sunshine

Over the weekend, as D.C. reeled from yet another emotional and divisive week, the weather gave us a gift: days of mellow sunshine and low humidity, scant clouds. Not Indian Summer, not yet, because we haven’t had a frost. More like the early September days we hoped for but didn’t receive.

There’s a thinness in the air this time of year that allows us to enjoy the warmth, not dread it.  I remember feeling this thinness while doing homework in early September during grammar school. Sitting on the front stoop, wearing my green-and-gray-plaid uniform and a too-tight pair of saddle shoes or penny loafers, still in love with my cartridge pen with peacock blue ink.

Somehow, those memories are all mixed up with the feel of the September air, not quite fall but not quite summer, either. A glorious in-between time.

That’s what we had this weekend, even though we’ve just entered October, what we’re promised through the week. If you listen closely you’ll hear a collective sigh of gratitude.

Sapiens: The Finale

Sapiens: The Finale

I finished reading Sapiens early this morning, just in time to return it to the library tomorrow. This will be the third time I’ve written about the book, but why not?

As I wrote last week, ignorance helped propel Sapiens to science, but it was science, capitalism and empire together that gave us the modern world. Science lent empires an ideological justification for exploration and discovery. The capital used to finance these explorations was made possible by credit, which is made possible by a belief that the future will be better than the present. “The idea of progress is built on the notion that if we admit our ignorance and invest resources in research, things can improve. This idea was soon translated into economic terms.”

But science, capitalism and empire can only take us so far. Already, Harari argues, they have brought us unprecedented prosperity and peace (though not necessarily contentment). “Today humankind has broken the law of the jungle. There is at last real peace, and not just absence of war.”  Harari admits that his views are skewed by the year in which he was writing them. “If this chapter had been written in 1945 or 1962, it would probably have been much more glum.”

I know Harari has a new book out, Homo Deus: A Brief History of Tomorrow, in which he describes what happens when “old myths are coupled with new godlike technologies such as artificial intelligence and genetic engineering.”

He gives us a sneak preview at the end of Sapiens: “Despite the astonishing things that humans are capable of doing, we remain unsure of our goals and we seem as discontented as ever. … Self-made gods with only the laws of physics to keep us company, we are accountable to no one. … Is there anything more dangerous than dissatisfied and irresponsible gods who don’t know what they want?”

Farewell Tour

Farewell Tour

They dart, they pounce, they charge each other with a bravura that far exceeds their body weight — given that their body weight is barely 11 ounces.

Today I spent more time than was practical trying to photograph a hummingbird in flight. A fluttering tail behind the feeder is the only still I could snap. 
This time next week these little guys will likely be gone, winging their way south as they always do this time of year. So today I refilled their feeder and tried to chase away the ants that were swarming it in their orderly, ant-like way. The hummingbirds need to stoke up, and I needed to help them.

I’ll miss their antics and their beauty. But I know they’ll be warm and comfortable. And before I can turn around twice it will be late April again — and they’ll be back.

Five months of hummingbirds a year. Not bad.

Faded Rose

Faded Rose

We’re at that point in the season when the bright hue of autumn leaves has not yet arrived and the muted palette of late summer prevails. Sedum and asters, the faded rose of late-blooming crepe myrtle.

All that’s left of clematis paniculata are the spent blossoms of the tiny white flowers.

And then there are the shaggy meadow flowers, the golden rod and Joe Pye Weed.

It’s easy to wander long amidst the subtle shades of this subtle season.

Shoe Story

Shoe Story

While I’ve never worn stiletto heels, I’ve always tried to look presentable at the office, footwear-wise. This has entailed keeping shoes at the office, since there’s no way I can walk long distances in pumps or even flats.

When I worked at McCall’s magazine years ago, my nickname was “Imelda” for the file drawer full of shoes I kept on hand. That was for Imelda Marcos, wife of Philippine dictator Ferdinand Marcos, whose 3,000 pairs of shoes were the stuff of legend, and which I learned today, take up the entire second floor of a shoe museum in the Philippines.

Back then, I had only about six pairs, not 3,000. And now, I have only three pairs, two black and one brown, no heel higher than an inch and a half.

Last week the shoes gathered dust because I bopped around the office in my tennis shoes every day, due to a taped-up right foot. It was delicious. My feet felt fantastic — and no one gave me a second glance.

I’m aware that wearing tennis shoes in the office is a slippery slope, though. What’s next? Slippers? Those big black shoes that grandmas used to wear in the old days? I’ve been telling myself to shape up. We must suffer to be beautiful, yes?

Which is all to say that I’m back to pumps and flats this week. It’s the only way to go.

Evening Musicale

Evening Musicale

The players were beginners, but they were not. Beginners at music, but not at life. And so the music they made, while tentative, was full of life and experience. It was brave and it was beautiful.

There was the violinist who tackled a duet with Latin flair. A clarinetist who brought Mozart to life. The cellist who played “The Swan.” Two pianists, one who played simple notes, the other more complex ones. “I just don’t want to have to start over,” the latter admitted before she began. She didn’t have to.

Tonight is the first fall rehearsal of the Reston Community Orchestra — the sessions I attended this summer were open to all — so this will be a beginner night for me. I’ve tuned and practiced and hope that I’m ready.

But as the players this weekend showed me, sometimes you’re as ready as you’ll ever be. The only thing left … is to play.

Fall Wish List

Fall Wish List

On this first day of fall, I wish for …

Blue skies,

Brilliant fall foliage,

And a crispness to the air,

Which is more difficult to picture, but which means …

It needs to stop raining for a while!