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Seven Miles

Seven Miles

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Yesterday Suzanne and I went for a walk after work. It was a lovely spring afternoon, just begging to be strolled through.

We started at my office in Crystal City, and quickly angled onto the Mount Vernon Trail, dodging the high-speed through bikes on the narrower connector path. We had to talk a little louder when we got to Gravelly Point, where jets roared overhead from take-off at National Airport.

But by Memorial Bridge the air was soft and quiet. The fresh green weeping willow branches shimmered in the lowering sun.

Mostly, we talked. But sometimes we marveled, too. Washington has its monster traffic jams, but it has marvelous foot paths, too. And yesterday I felt like we were on all of them.

We walked for hours. So this morning, curious, I looked up the distance.

Seven miles. You could have fooled me. It didn’t feel an inch more than five.

As the Light Allows

As the Light Allows

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As the days lengthen I notice new landmarks on my evening walks through Arlington. Yesterday’s “find” was discovering the Virginia Square Metro Station. I looked to the left, and there it was. Not that I was ready to ride the rails. I pushed on to the Ballston Station. But it was nice to know it was there.

My first walk on this route was late last year. I barely made it to Court House before the street lights came on. And by Clarendon it was completely dark, so I hopped on a Metro there.

I got lost on my next two forays to the neighborhood. First I swung too far to the north, the next time too far to the south. I was looking for the middle way.

It took the brighter afternoons of early spring to reveal it. Fairfax Drive, the street I was looking for, looks like a parking lot when you enter from the east. It’s only when you stroll a few yards beyond the entry way that you see it blossom into a road. This is not something I could discern in darkness or even in dusk; full daylight was required.

I like discovering this neighborhood little by little, as the light allows.

Toys Aren’t Us

Toys Aren’t Us

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I was sad to learn that Toys R Us will be closing its stores. Not that I liked them much in their heyday. Then I was sad about the smaller closings, the independents and the Zany Brainys. But still, this marks the end of an era. Not just of toy stores but of the sort of children who frequented them.

My kids grew up with real, tangible playthings — blocks and puzzles and Legos — and of course the boxes they came in. Electronic toys were beginning to enter the market, but barely. Now they dominate the market, and, I’m afraid, childhood itself.

What becomes of children who touch screens instead of play dough, who swipe instead of stack? I guess they become the people suited for a digital universe. All I know is, I’m glad I raised my kids when there were Barbies and Bratz and My Pretty Ponies — and the big warehouse store that sold them.

Flowers, Real and Imagined

Flowers, Real and Imagined

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Here in Crystal City, folks are trying hard. Brightly patterned skins have gone over the gray stone buildings, blank walls have sprout faux gardens, while not far away a sheltered cherry tree breaks into early bloom.

A colleague thinks we’re trying to lure Amazon’s HQ2, and that may be the case.

But all the paint and netting in the world can’t camouflage the button-downed corporate soul of this place. The only thing that does that for me are the people. At lunchtime on a warm day, the place is full of life. Pale office workers play ping-pong or corn hole. Smokers linger longer in front of buildings. Bikers and runners mingle on the sidewalks.

So if paint and netting bring out the people, then bring them on!

Recipe for Improvement

Recipe for Improvement

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The strolls through Arlington are becoming commonplace. Some days I walk two Metro stops up the line, others four. Last night it was two, and when I descended into the tunnel I could see a train coming. I was “lucky.” There had been a switch problem earlier and trains had been single-tracking most of the evening. The next train was due in 16 minutes (a lengthy interval at rush hour even for this dysfunctional system).

Can I do justice to the inward groan that greets a packed-full subway car at the end of a long day? Inward howl is more like it. A clown car’s worth of people piled out at Clarendon, but still it was shoulder to shoulder. But what’s this? I spied a tiny space, enough for me to step in and find a pole to hang onto. At least I had only six stops left. Many riders had been sardined in there for double, triple that.

It was one of those days, major cuts proposed to the State Department and Department of Agriculture, cuts that will no doubt never be enacted but which underline the difficulties of living here. Remind me again … oh, yeah, I work here, we work here. And now the girls work here, too.

Only one thing to do: Get home as quickly as possible and change into comfy clothes … then do something to make the world go away:
make dinner
hang out in the kitchen
bounce on the trampoline
write in my journal
watch the Olympics
talk on the phone
read a good book
hug Copper

… And hope tomorrow (today) is a little bit better!

New Walk, Continued

New Walk, Continued

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The new walk is becoming a habit, the perfect way to unwind at the end of the day. I jump off the bus at one Metro stop, but walk two more stops up the road before boarding a train. The key word is “up.”

It’s about a mile from Rosslyn Metro to Clarendon Metro, but that doesn’t include the elevation gain, a number I’ve yet to locate but which feels mighty big when you’re hoofing it with a laptop at the end of a long workday.

One might be tempted to lag behind, like this little guy. But this little guy does not realize that Le Pain Quotidien is only a few blocks away — and that their crusty baguettes can be gone by 5:45. Nothing like a little French bread to put a skip in your step.

Though I fantasize about townhouses I pass along the way (so cute, so close in!), my walk leads not to a quaint bungalow — but a subway platform.  Not always as crowded as this one, I’m happy to say. But a subway platform just the same.

The Shutdown Walk

The Shutdown Walk

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It’s hard to live in our nation’s capital without drinking our nation’s Kool-Aid. And right now, the flavor is shutdown. The will-it-happen, won’t-it-happen discussion has given way to talk of how it will happen. Shutting down the government is not unlike steering a huge ocean liner. One doesn’t start or stop quickly.

Since there’s one government employee and one dependent-on-government employee in this house — to say nothing of a government-employee daughter a few miles away — this matters in an immediate way.

During the last shutdown, in 2013, Congress authorized back pay for furloughed workers. We might not be as lucky this time. In addition to lapsed income, there’s also the uncertainty of the situation, the disruption.

Time for some perspective, which for me means … a stroll. I’m calling it the Shutdown Walk.

Cathedral Chorale

Cathedral Chorale

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To hear ancient music in an ancient structure amplifies its power. I’m talking about Saturday’s concert of the Cathedral Choral Society, which was held in National Cathedral. Though the church itself isn’t ancient, it was built to feel that way.

National Cathedral was erected in the 20th century, not the 12th. But the building transports you, from the first step over the transom into the crowded vestibule. This impression continues when you look up at the arched ceiling and see the sun slanting in the rose window.

And then the music starts —  “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel,” “Lo, How a Rose E’re Blooming” and “In the Bleak Midwinter” — and the experience is complete.

For Sale

For Sale

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In my block of Folkstone, houses seldom change owners. The neighbors across the street and on each side of us have been here for decades, and many others for years. It’s the exact opposite of the transient neighborhood I thought I’d find outside D.C.  The government may change every four or eight years, but the suburbs where I live are pretty darn stable.

In the beginning, we were even more close-knit, with a pool party on the last day of school, caroling at Christmas, and birthday dinners throughout the year. That dwindled as the children grew up, but there are still occasional get-togethers and plenty of impromptu conversations at the corner or wherever dogs (and their owners) congregate. 
All of which is to say that when neighbors move away — the owners of this house are embarking today on their long-planned escape to Hawaii — a little bit of Folkstone leaves with them. 
Eerie Light

Eerie Light

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I was braced for near darkness when I stepped out of the office yesterday. What I got was far stranger. It was one of those cloudy late afternoons when the light has no discernible source, and it throws you off balance. The low rays are supposed to slant over buildings west of the bus stop — not seep from the north, south and east. Removing this vital cue confuses and unnerves. Is it almost morning or almost night?

Only one thing to do, and that is hurry. Book it to the bus stop, hop in, zoom away. Once to Rosslyn, though, the light was even stranger. Big banks of clouds were forming over the river and the light had a greenish cast. If this is Eastern Standard Time, you can have it. 
Luckily, it was totally dark by the time I arrived above ground at Vienna. No more eerie shimmer. Now just the glare of headlights heading toward me.