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VE Day Plus One

VE Day Plus One

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I heard them before I saw them, a great roar that meant business. I craned my head out the car window, but the tree cover made it impossible to see the planes overhead. I was sitting in line to enter Great Falls Park, an idea that I realized wasn’t so very original as I saw the dozens of cars ahead of and (soon) behind me.

Less than a few thousand feet away was the Potomac River. The World War II aircraft assembled yesterday would fly down the river to the Capitol. It was my best chance to see the planes in flight.

Finally, I reached the gate, paid $5, found a parking spot and ran — full-out ran — to the overlook. As I did, I heard more engines. A group of four planes rumbled overhead. This was enough. Just to see and hear these four.

But oh, it gets better. Because the planes were actually circling above us before they flew downtown, so we saw most of the formations twice. And it quickly became apparent that I was standing with a bunch of die-hard WWII aircraft enthusiasts. “Look, it’s a P-38,” said one. “You can tell by the twin fuselage.”

Maybe it was just me, but I think most of us were there not just for ourselves but for others. The man standing next to me said his father was a tail gunner in a B-29. And when I nodded and smiled at one woman about my age, I noticed her eyes were as full as mine.

One thing I’m sure about — and I’m not sure about much — is that once our loved ones are gone, we become their eyes and ears. Yesterday, Dad was all around me — in the warm spring sunshine, in the contrailed sky. And he was there especially when the B-17s flew out of the clouds, over our heads and into the limitless blue beyond.

B-17 in flight

Wild Blue Yonder

Wild Blue Yonder

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It’s the 70th anniversary of VE (Victory in Europe) Day and what I’m thinking about most is that my dad is not here to see it. How he would have loved to see the planes roaring down Independence Avenue and soaring above the Capitol.

It’s being called the “Arsenal of Democracy Flyover” and is the largest array of World War II aircraft ever assembled.

If we were watching it with Dad, we would have needed no cheat sheet; he could have identified all the aircraft himself with his still-sharp (at 90 years of age!) eyes.

“There’s a Mustang, there’s a Wildcat, there’s a Lightning,” he would have said. Of course, he would have been most excited to see his beloved B-17 bomber, the Flying Fortress. I grew up hearing stories of that plane and his special spot in its, the tail gunner position. He flew 35 missions over Europe — two on D Day — and in every one of them he was facing backwards.

The WWII veterans are over 90 now, but there will be a great gathering of them today, too. This flyover is in their honor — and the honor of all their fallen comrades. 


(The Missing Man formation.)

Baltimore Burning

Baltimore Burning

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The news had escaped me until after dinner. Baltimore was burning. The governor was declaring a state of emergency. The National Guard was moving in.

I have a daughter a dozen miles from center city, so the situation took on a greater urgency. But whose heart doesn’t skip a beat when the streets of a major American city are in chaos, when buildings are being looted, police attacked?

As is so often the case, the “cure” is worse than the disease. Or maybe the cure is the disease. Maybe we can no longer tell the difference.

I remember when Baltimore’s slogan was “The City That Reads,” a slogan too easily mocked with “the city that bleeds.” Now it’s the city that burns. But what city does not have this capacity? I think we’re all asking ourselves that question right now.

The Capitol and the Copter

The Capitol and the Copter

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I’m setting aside other post ideas today to write about one of the zanier things that’s happened lately in the nation’s capital. I speak, of course, of the 61-year-old mailman who landed his gyrocopter on the west Capitol lawn to draw attention to the need for campaign finance reform.

The Secret Service didn’t intercept him, nor did NORAD. People in the area (if only I had been on one of my Wednesday walks!) told the Washington Post that the craft looked official with its Postal Service logo. Only when officers surrounded the craft did one bystander realize that “it was someone doing something crazy.”

When I lived in New York, people were always doing crazy things. Now that I live in buttoned-down D.C., the crazy things happen less often but are more notable. A farmer driving a tractor to the Mall and threatening to blow it up. A number of White House intruders, one of whom made it all the way to Obama’s quarters before being noticed. An intelligence agency employee who accidentally crashed a drone on White House grounds.

I’m tempted to say “only in D.C.” … but I won’t!

(The lawn in the foreground = copter’s landing pad.)

Chilled Blossoms

Chilled Blossoms

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The cherry blossoms will peak this weekend, but I was downtown yesterday. So I hiked over to the Tidal Basin in the cold mist. And once there, I walked all the way around it, because that is what you do — even if it’s 45 degrees.

There was the same beauty, the same pageantry, the same fairytale canopy of white blossoms to stroll beneath.

There was a couple posing for an engagement photo, shivering in a sleeveless dress and thin cotton shirt while the photographers shouted at them to embrace one more time.

There were three guys snapping shots of a pair of tennis shoes atop an ancient gnarled trunk.

There were clots of tourists at the predictable places, the Martin Luther King statue and the Jefferson Memorial, following guides with furled umbrellas.

But because of the weather, there was also space, open pavement, more than one empty straightaway.

The blossoms, mostly open, entirely chilled, looked like they’ll last forever. But I know better. This time next week, they’ll be gone. 

Feeling Sorry for the Circus

Feeling Sorry for the Circus

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I started feeling sorry for the circus even before I heard about the elephants. I knew it was only a matter of time before the elephants disappeared. Now I can’t help but think the whole enterprise may be on the way out.

The posters arrived a few weeks ago, pasted all over the Metro system. The circus is coming, the circus is coming! “Hmmm,” say the children, barely lifting their heads from their iPads, phones and computers.

The circus may be losing the battle, but it’s not going down without a fight. “Believe in the unbelievable,” trumpet the posters. But what is unbelievable anymore? Surely anything can happen, anything does. Dancing dogs, contortionists, trapeze artists, a man shot from a cannon. But how can these compare to even one frame of a computer game, film or TV show?

Yes, the circus is real; humans and animals defy gravity, death, the possibility of humiliation. But what does it matter?

Will the circus be around 20 years from now? I hope so. I’d like to say yes. But then again I like to believe in the unbelievable.

March … Well, You Know

March … Well, You Know

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I’m not a sports person, so am probably not the best individual to make this observation: But is it possible that “Selection Sunday,” the art and science of brackets and the NCAA Basketball Tournament in general is a bigger deal than it used to be?

A special section of the Washington Post is dedicated to it today (there have been special sections for years) and a picture of nervous Maryland fans appears on the front page. I missed the televised hoopla but of course there’s plenty of it. And it’s been dominating social media as well.

There are many reasons for this trend, I’m sure, including the prodigious amounts of money wagered on the games. But this year I’m less interested in the why of March madness than I am in the fact that it means there are even more people pulling for Kentucky to lose.

If there ever was an “overdog” my team is it! Undefeated in the regular season. All school records broken. Just a bit of pressure! More than there used to be? Yes. More than they can handle? That remains to be seen.

(View from the University of Kentucky Library … yes, they have a library.)

My Kingdom For …

My Kingdom For …

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Downton Abby’s fifth season ended Sunday night with a Christmas celebration at the Earl of Grantham’s manor house. Lords and ladies, cooks and valets — everyone joined in the holiday spirit. And that’s been the theme of this season — everyone joining in, boundaries dissolving.

The likely departure for America of Tom Branson, the chauffeur who married Lady Sybil and is raising their daughter after his wife died in childbirth, is being mourned by the family even though they once could hardly stand to have him at their table.

The cook’s assistant Daisy is filled with book learning and Mr. Molesly the footman enjoys sharing his love of history with the girl. We continue to hope for a happily ever after for Anna and John Bates — if the couple can stay out of prison long enough to find it. And finally, Carson the butler has made his feelings known to Mrs. Hughes the housekeeper. And she said yes!

I know it’s a soap opera, but it’s a wonderfully done one. I turn off the set each Sunday night wishing I had a ladies maid to untangle my necklace and a footman to serve the sweets and savories that the cook, in some magical, other-side-of-the-rainbow kitchen, has lovingly prepared.

Eleven months till Season Six!

On Surprises

On Surprises

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In the end it’s not about which movie won or lost. (Or at least it isn’t to me; I’m sure it is to the producers and directors!) It’s about seeing the movies beforehand, keeping my own little tally. It’s about settling in to watch the festivities and see what the evening has in store.

Of course, what it has in store is pretty much the same from year to year — bright lights and gorgeous gowns, highly scripted performances. And then there are the acceptance speeches, our best hope of real human emotion. Last night didn’t disappoint. There was J.K. Simmons telling us to call our mothers. There was an excited Eddie Redmayne sharing his award with ALS sufferers. And then there was the director of “Ida,” the Polish film about a nun discovering her Jewish past, which took the award for best foreign language film.

Pawel Pawilkowski told his Polish film crew to have a drink. He mentioned his late wife and parents, who were very much a part of the film, and his children, “who are still alive.” He fought against the music that was trying to drive him offstage. But his words stuck with me:

“We make a film about silence and withdrawing from the world and the need
for contemplation – and here we are, at the epicenter of world noise
and attention. Fantastic — life is full of surprises.”

Life is full of surprises, and sometimes even the Oscars are.

Thanksiving Table

Thanksiving Table

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The Thanksgiving table before the bird, before the whipped yams with candied pecans, before the oyster stuffing and the mashed potatoes and the broccoli with capers. Before the pumpkin praline pie.

Before the wine and the “cheers” and the conversation.

Before the Black Friday sales, which had not yet started when I snapped this shot, which I’m happy to say we did not attend.

Before the day we leave for home, which (sigh) we will do soon.

The Thanksgiving table is behind us; the gratitude remains.