World Series Champs!

World Series Champs!

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Washington, D.C., is waking up late today, pushing snooze at least twice and downing an extra cup of coffee. But as one of the bleary-eyed ones, I can say … it was totally worth it. It was worth it to see the Washington Nationals beat the Houston Astros to win the World Series, an improbable, come-from-behind victory like so many of the others the Nats have achieved this season.

But this victory holds no future trial.  The team has gone from a 19-31 record in May to World Series champs in October. They have nothing left to prove.  But as the oldest team in the league and the come-from-behind specialists, they have something to teach us about determination, drive and never saying never.

What they’ve achieved most of all, though, is to bring us a hometown pride that’s hard to come by in the Nation’s Capital. We’re no longer the “Swamp,” the seat of dysfunctional government. We’re the home of a team with loyal supporters (my neighbors have been season ticket holders since 2005) and a fan base that transcends partisan divides.

Events like this help people feel like they belong. And more than anything else, it’s the belonging I celebrate today. 

Inner Light

Inner Light

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It’s cloudy and warmish,  a still day made for long walks in the gathering leaves. I won’t have time for such a thing, but it’s nice to dream about it on my short strolls with Copper.

Say what you will about autumn color set off by blue skies, but when it’s gray outside the bright trees seem to glow from within. It’s as if the stored goodness of all those days in the sun are giving something back to us now — something that says, yes, we will fall and crinkle and be trod underfoot; yes, our whitened trunks will be revealed and cold winds will blow — but beyond it is all this radiance.

That’s what it seems like on cloudy days in October when birds are still singing and squirrels scamper to store food and summer annuals cling to life in pots on the deck.

We’ll see how it feels in a few weeks…

In Transit

In Transit

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No matter how crummy the commute — and I’ve had some doozies — the time I spend in transit is usually always interesting.

Take today, for instance. It wasn’t one of the better trips I’ve had from home to office, but it was perfect for people watching, for noticing. It was the usual jumble of humans and locomotion that I’m convinced become embedded in me somehow and pop out in my writing or thinking.

In the parking lot, a man in a Nationals cap and a flowered shirt searched his trunk (full of bags and boxes) before walking to the station.  On the train, I sat next to a man reading a book … a book! And on the way out of the train, I heard one of my favorite buskers, an accomplished violinist, tripping through the fourth movement from Schubert’s Trout Quintet. I gave him a dollar.

Walking from the station to the office, a fellow commuter and pacesetter dropped something tiny. It wasn’t money, but he took pains to chase it down and pick it up. Was it a tiny ticket? An important phone number scribbled on a piece of napkin? No, it was a shred of wrapper from the granola bar he was nibbling (tidily, it seems) on the way to work. It was, in short, a human moment, just one of thousands that occur … in transit.

A Change of Day

A Change of Day

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Yesterday began with a deluge, a rainstorm that settled in over the region and sent me into a reflective, closet-cleaning mood. Not that I actually cleaned any closets — though I did do some straightening up and pruning of old clothes in the basement.

But I had no sooner hunkered down for a day of inside work when, about noon, the rain stopped and the sun peeked out. I soon abandoned the basement chores for a walk and some outside tasks — such as cleaning up a pumpkin that was apparently mauled by hungry deer (that’s a first!).

Days with dramatic weather changes can throw off one’s rhythm and to-do list. But they can also foil the routine thinking that sends me into auto-pilot. By mid-afternoon, I decided that the best thing I could do would be to sit on the deck in the rocking chair, bask in the 70-degree temps and describe the scene in my journal.

“The low sun bends behind the big tree in the back of the yard, the one that will probably have to come down soon since half of it is already dead and the other half sports two large lifeless limbs. … Ah, but it’s lovely sitting here on the deck in the warm wind, a few clouds scudding by above, as the oaks flash yellow against the blue.”

Tissues

Tissues

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If I ever doubt I am my mother’s daughter, I need look no further than my pockets … or my purse … or the sleeves of a cardigan. For in all of those places, I am sure to find … tissues.

I was just downstairs washing a pair of Mom’s pants that I have decided to give away. I will snap a photo of them before doing so, a new practice I’ve been told works wonders in the quest to declutter. But before putting them in the washer, I checked the pockets — and there, of course, I found a Kleenex.

Mom kept them everywhere. Her pocketbooks were full of them and so were her bedclothes. It was probably the problematic sinuses that have come to plague her children as well, and the lung condition she suffered certainly didn’t help.

But to me the tissues are endearing — and I hope I never come to the end of them.

Golden Glow

Golden Glow

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I walked downstairs yesterday and was enveloped in a golden glow. It was the witch hazel tree, that stalwart of the garden, earliest to bloom and gracious in its un-leafing.

Perhaps because I’m sauntering through the season with our little doggie, I’m noticing the autumn colors more this year. The oak at the end of the street is at its most fetching, an almost neon orange set off by the green still left on the tree. I have a favorite view of it, which is from the meadow where it’s framed by bare branches.

Elsewhere in the neighborhood there are russets and roses and burning bushes bursting by the roadside. Northern Virginia has never been a fall wonderland — we have our springs, after all — but for a week or two we sport a kind of mellow beauty that speaks of the serenity this season can hold.

Forward from Here

Forward from Here

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I first began reading Reeve Lindbergh because of her famous mother, Anne Morrow Lindbergh, whose Gift from the Sea has always been a favorite of mine. Reeve’s memoirs Under a Wing: A Memoir and No More Words: A Journal of My Mother provide the inside stories of her upbringing and her mother’s final years.

Like her mom, Reeve writes with a friendly, accessible style. And because Reeve grew up with a writer (actually two of them; her famous father wrote books too), she learned early on how writing can help make sense of things.

Reeve is an unabashed journal-keeper, and though she laughs about using her journals as an escape from other writing chores, she also says that much of her material comes straight from them.

“To write as honestly as I can in my journals about my everyday life and the thoughts and feelings I have as I go along is an old, tenacious yearning,” she writes. Writing is “comforting and steadying,” she says. It was so even when she underwent brain surgery, which she did while writing Forward From Here, the book I just read and from which I quote.

In a later chapter, she talks about moments of well-being when she’s “suddenly, acutely conscious of being alive: on a spring morning when the first V of wild geese flies over the farm; any time I see one of my children again after a separation; whenever I look out over the hills and pastures, or up at the stars.

“I’m convinced that what we really need most to sustain us as we grow older, more than any drug on the market, is this kind of appreciative awareness, along with compassion, a sense of humor, and simple common sense.”

To which I can only add … amen!

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.