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Lights, Camera?

Lights, Camera?

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Here in Crystal City, things are on the move. Old buildings are coming down and new ones are going up as we shed our dowdy D.C. image in favor of a hip new HQ2 vibe. Yes, it’s still dear old CC, where men in dark suits dash quickly into idling SUVs. But there’s a new energy here, a flash of the creative class that is to come.

I promised myself I would chronicle these changes in my own particular and unscientific way. And one of the shifts I’ve noticed in my own building is that stairwells now have automatic lights that go off when no one’s around.

Since I exercise by walking up and down the stairs, this has come under some personal scrutiny. I begin my walk in the semi-darkness, and only as I emerge onto each landing do the lights come on. Though this makes me feel just a tad important — these lights are coming on just for me! — it also makes me feel just a tad freaked out.

I remember the phrase, “Lights, camera, action!” and wonder … if new lights are here, can new cameras be far behind?

Look to the Rainbow

Look to the Rainbow

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I knew what it was before I saw it. I knew it from the jaded commuters standing slack-jawed outside the Metro station, then grabbing their phones and snapping away. I knew that on this October Tuesday, our gray day of rain was being rewarded with a rainbow. And not just any rainbow — but a complete arch that spanned all of Route 66.

The rainbow was spotted in other parts of the region, too. I have a reliable rainbow-sighting report from Reagan National Airport, though no pots of gold were found.

The longer I looked at the rainbow the more the colors revealed themselves. At one point there was even a double bow.

What heartened me most were the rainbow-spotters themselves. Not much will slow commuters from reaching home in the evening, but the rainbow was doing just that. I snapped half a dozen shots of the heavens on my way to the car … and I wasn’t the only one.

Exploring the Underground

Exploring the Underground

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The other day, on the way back from an office at the other end of my work neighborhood, I found myself once again wandering the warren of paths, shops and eateries known as the Crystal City Underground.

There are subterranean walkways in many cities — Montreal, Toronto and Chicago, to name a few — usually built for safety or warmth. In our case, mostly safety, since Crystal City has military origins.


It was about noon when I was passing through, marching directly behind a soldier in camouflage. I followed him for several minutes, thinking from his purposeful stride that he knew where he was going. By the time he peeled off into a restaurant, there were signs I could follow to find my way. 

The bustling new section I discovered has a pharmacy, a chocolate shop and a Halloween store, of all things, something I doubt it will have much longer. There were plenty of restaurants with delicious aromas. Most of all, there were people milling about, checking phones, meeting friends. It was a lively little break in the middle of a busy day — and a heartening adventure, to discover a new place so close at hand. 
Terra Firma

Terra Firma

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Ever since I moved into my new office I’ve had an aerial display to observe out my window.  The first week it was directly across from me on the building across the way. Now, entering my third week, it has moved slightly to the west.

At first, I thought these intrepid souls were window-washers. But I quickly realized what they were doing was infinitely more complicated and nuanced, something that involves power-washing as well as chiseling, scraping and applying what appears to be a seal at the base of each stone panel.

Of course, what they mostly do, what absorbs my attention when I’m in between tasks and “resting my eyes,” is hang off the side of an 11-story building.  Right now, for instance, they are almost at the top, swaying in the breeze on a little platform with only a few ropes to hold them up.

I know they are belted and secured and wearing helmets. They appear to be safe. But I still get a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach watching them work.

I may have hard days filled with crazy deadlines and tight turnaround times. But every writing and editing assignment, no matter how difficult, is conducted with my feet firmly planted on terra firma. Watching these guys has made me very grateful for that.

Eek!

Eek!

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Nothing unites an office like a rodent on the loose, and this week, my office has had one. I first heard about it from my former cubicle mate, who spotted a telltale tail sticking out of a crack in a partition. The mouse looked like it was trying to fit into a hole it was too big for, she said, and laughed.

But laughing wasn’t all that was going on. A few minutes later, there was a scream from another part of the office. The mouse had struck again.

Soon, mouse spottings became the topic of conversation in the kitchen and the hallways. I heard from someone on the other side of the building who said a mouse had been living in his potted plant.

Either this is a very well-traveled varmint or … it’s a whole family of ’em.

I put my money on the latter.

(Above: Mrs. Tittlemouse, a most tidy, particular, sweet little mouse. Let’s hope the Winrock “mouse” is cast in her image.)

Flow Commute

Flow Commute

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Yesterday I left the office at the usual time, but instead of walking to the bus stop, riding to Rosslyn, metro-ing to Vienna then poking home on often-clogged local thoroughfares, I simply strolled to the garage, paid the fee and zipped home, mostly on highways.

The total elapsed time in my typical evening commute is 80 to 90 minutes. Last night it was about half of that!

You might wonder why I don’t drive to the office every day. That would be because the main road I take requires that there be two people in the car or that I pay a toll that can run as high as $40 or $50 for the privilege of bumping along nine miles of poorly maintained pavement.

Yesterday I had a reprieve for the federal holiday, so I enjoyed a flow commute and almost an hour more leisure time when I arrived home.

The whole situation is absurd, I know … which is why I like to write it down every so often, just to remind myself.

Fifteen Years

Fifteen Years

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Today is what I used to call my “sad little anniversary” — but I don’t call it that anymore. For one thing it isn’t little, since it marked a profound change in my life. And for another, it isn’t sad. I mostly said this because of journalistic scruples — and I don’t feel those much anymore.

Fifteen years ago today I took a staff magazine writing job for a university publication, ending 17 years of full-time freelancing. I had been happy and productive as my own boss, cranking out hundreds of articles for scores of national magazines. I even wrote a couple of books. But the creative well was running a little dry, the pocketbook was feeling a bit slim — and the job presented itself as an attractive option.

I told myself that I could always leave if I was miserable. But I wasn’t miserable, and the staff writing job led to an alumni magazine editor job and eventually to my current work writing for a nonprofit development organization.

I have stepped further away from my journalistic roots than I ever thought I would. But I long ago realized that every writer answers to someone, be that a magazine editor, an advertiser or a communications director. And my writing is doing far more good now — helping survivors of human trafficking, for example — than it was when it was used to sell makeup or diapers.

Which is not to say I have no quibbles. Almost none of my work is bylined. I put words in other people’s mouths. I am an employee. More and more, I long for time to do my own writing. And, every October 12th, I think about the choice I made. Was it the right one? I’ll never know.

Seek Discomfort

Seek Discomfort

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This morning I boarded the inbound Metro at the last minute, finding a full train for the second time this week. Though I often don’t get a seat on the way home from the office, I usually do get one on the way there, since I start at the end of the line.

But today, no way. So I set down my bag, pulled out my newspaper and settled in for the duration. It’s not a long ride, and I could use the standing time. Which is not to say I didn’t fantasize about someone popping up and offering me a seat. I wasn’t even sure that I would take it, but I wanted it to be offered. (Perverse, but true.)

That’s when I noticed the teenager in the yellow sweatshirt. He was sitting in one of the side-facing seats and was, like most riders, totally absorbed in his phone. His sweatshirt read “Seek Discomfort.” How ironic, I thought. Apparently, this did not extend to the discomfort of giving up his seat to a middle-aged woman.

But then, as if he read my mind, he looked up, caught my eye and smiled.  It was such a sweet smile. He must have been all of 15. “Would you like this seat?” he said.

“Oh, no,” I replied. “I’m fine. But thank you.”

He had sought discomfort. And so had I.

Q4

Q4

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I believe this is my shortest blog title ever, though not my shortest blog post … at least I don’t think it will be!

It dawned on me the other day that I’m starting to think in quarters. Not 25-cent quarters, but business-year quarters. This is in part because I work for a nonprofit organization that talks of quarters, and I attend all-staff meetings that have recently begun happening four times a year rather than more often and more randomly.

And it was at that meeting, with its talk of the Q3 just ending and the Q4 to come, that I thought … hmmm, this is different: thinking in quarters rather than single months.  It’s perfect for the speeding up of time that seems to be more and more the subliminal topic of my days.

But it is also a convenient way to frame time, to chunk it up, so to speak. And although in one way it makes time speed up (already in the fourth quarter!), in another it makes it slow down (there are three months to measure instead of just one). It’s yet another way to live our lives … and I’m always looking for those.

Room with a View

Room with a View

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This morning I moved all my worldly office possessions a few steps down the hall into an office. It has four walls (one of them glass), no door and two huge windows. Best of all, I can turn off the overhead light and leave it off to my heart’s content.

Once they figure out how to mount my Mac monitor (this is most assuredly a PC environment) on a standing desk, I’ll be able to stand up in here too (something I was reluctant to do in Cubicle Land).

I write this post (quickly, during my break) looking southeast at the building across the courtyard and the train tracks that run all the way to Florida. Beyond the trees is the highway, then the airport, then the Potomac River and Maryland.

I’ve been lusting after an office since I arrived here, and I’ll only have this one a few months (we move to a new building next spring). But while I’m here, I plan to enjoy it. And sitting here looking out the window, laptop on lap, feet resting on trashcan … is an excellent way to begin.