Alive on the Page

Alive on the Page

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I’ve been reading Oliver Sacks’ Everything in its Place: First Loves and Last Tales, a posthumous collection of essays by a master of that form. That he was a master of so much else — neurology, weightlifting, chemistry — ripples out from every page.

Sacks loved to swim, to walk in botanical gardens, to study ferns in Central Park, and the book contains short chapters on these topics and many more, easy explorations in the personal essay form. They move from the particular to the general, are informal and discursive. 

Sacks is most well-known for his book Awakenings, which chronicles his treatment of patients with a rare sleeping sickness, people who had missed whole decades of life then woke up and found themselves once again in the land of the living. 

Awake is how I feel after reading the work of this scientist and writer, gone almost 10 years but alive to me now thanks to this final, exhilarating collection. 

(Sacks’ signature courtesy Wikipedia)

Stopping for Sunset

Stopping for Sunset

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A late walk, not timed for sunset but finding it anyway. There at the end of the street, the end of the neighborhood, the end of the day.

It was not an untrammeled view. Lines and lights and poles obscured it. But maybe, I thought as I snapped, they were the point. Stop, say the red lights. Savor the colors, the clouds, the setting sun. Make time for them as often as you can.  
Sock it to Me

Sock it to Me

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The newspaper headline caught my eye: “Your Socks are Showing Your Age.” The accompanying photo shows two people who both look young to me, one wearing ankle socks barely visible above their shoes and the other wearing crew socks. 

Apparently, Gen Z is embracing the sort of tall, dorky socks that everyone wanted to leave behind two decades ago, the kind you see on old guys mowing the lawn. Young folks now sport crew socks with sneakers and even with high heels. Take that, Millennials, they say as they flaunt their now-trendy tube socks. 

How old do you have to be before you start seeing fashion as a game? Not very. The youngest Millennials are turning 30. 

As a walker in the suburbs, it only figures that I would have an opinion on socks. They are, after all, the interface between foot and shoe. A well-fitting pair puts a bounce in my step; an ill-fitting pair drives me crazy. With socks, as with so much of life, the best approach is one of moderation: neither too high nor too low is the recipe for happiness.

(Photo from Wikipedia’s page on Socks and sandals, considered a “fashion faux pas” in some places)

Covering Ground

Covering Ground

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There is no clear trail around Lake Audubon. There are twists and turns, hidden paths and a bridge it took me years to find. 

But yesterday the pieces all fell together, the landscapes and the streetscapes. There were wooded straightaways and sunny patches. There was neighborhood walking — perfect for ogling lakeside houses I’d love to live in — and forest glades with dappled shade.

I saw anglers, paddle-boarders and dog-walkers. Everyone was up to something, and I was covering ground. The weekend torpor had vanished with the breeze. 

(Banana trees along the lake. Yes, bananas grow in Fairfax County.)

Cool Breeze

Cool Breeze

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Something shifted overnight. It won’t last long, so I’d better write fast.  A cool breeze is blowing in from the west, bending the bamboo that fringes the deck, and thin clouds are scuttling through a blue sky.

There is movement and gladness in the air, and the lazy trills of birdsong. 

Colors look brighter, and there are plenty of them, especially in the back garden. 

I’d like to sit here and keep describing it all, but I’d better walk now, before it goes away.

(Two young walkers enjoying a cool breeze a few weeks ago. Photo: CCC)

Boiling Point

Boiling Point

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In case you haven’t heard, there’s a heat wave in the Eastern United States, with temperatures of 100 degrees, which will feel warmer with the humidity.

The chances are you have heard, though, because the weather folks have been beating the drum about this since Monday. Through lovely cool mornings and passable afternoons, we’re heard about heat domes, hydration and cooling centers. 

It’s not just a different kind of weather these days; it’s a different kind of weather report.  

(One of the hotter places I’ve visited recently: the Alcazar in Seville, Spain.)

Ancient Artifact

Ancient Artifact

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I was stopped on my morning walk by a friendly neighbor. He rolled down his car window and asked, “Are you missing a Christmas tree ornament?” It’s almost July. Tree trimmings are not on my mind. I uttered something noncommittal. 

“Because we found one in front of your house, near where you might have left the tree for pickup. It was sticking out of the dirt there. A rocking horse?”

Well yes, there was a rocking horse ornament, metal with a looped string to attach it. Could it have escaped my multiple searches through the fir branches in early January?

It could — and it did. The ornament has, uh, weathered, shall we say. It looks like something from the 18th century, not the late 20th. But now it’s home again, thanks to a kind neighbor. 

Happy Early Solstice!

Happy Early Solstice!

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Today at 4:51 p.m., the northern hemisphere of our planet officially enters its hottest season. It’s the earliest solstice in 228 years, they’re saying, since George Washington was president.

I’ve been thinking of George Washington lately, what with the discovery of 35 bottles of preserved cherries recently found at his home, Mount Vernon. Now I’ll think of him again, enjoying the longest day of the year, perhaps in Philadelphia, then the capital of these United States. A few months later, he will deliver his farewell address. 

But back to the solstice, which is early this year because of leap year and our imperfect calendar. I could have waited one more day for it — savored the anticipation — but there’s no way to stop a celestial body when it has made up its mind. 

And so I prepare to drain as much daylight and happiness from this day as I can. It’s the longest one; it can spare it. 

(A favorite sunrise shot, the beach at Chincoteague, April 2016.)

Patience of the Predator

Patience of the Predator

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Yesterday was a day for wild things. I spotted a doe and a box turtle in the woods, and then, while dining al fresco last evening, was visited by a red-shouldered hawk.

The bird landed on the deck railing, just a few feet from the dinner table, and scanned the landscape. I suppose he was wanting his own dinner, perhaps a chipmunk or squirrel. For a few chilling moments I wondered if it might be me. 

The hawk perched for what seemed like forever, long enough for me to slowly turn in the chair and keep my eyes on him, long enough for me to become restless. I had finished my dinner; he’d yet to have his.

My phone was inside, so I missed the chance to photograph him. Instead, I tried to memorize his details: the long, substantial chest; the yellow legs, hooded eyes and beak that meant business. He was completely still as he surveyed the terrain, able to spot the faintest trace of movement. 

What impressed me most was his patience. He was prepared to wait all night if need be. His was a patience born of need, the patience of the predator.

(A hawk I photographed several years ago. Last night’s visitor was much closer.)

A Birthday

A Birthday

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Through the years, birthdays become attached to the people who hold them. Today will always be Nancy’s day, even though Nancy is gone. 

It was on this day, long ago, that I landed in Europe for the first time. The date wasn’t accidental. It was Nancy’s 20th birthday, and I was meeting her in Luxembourg. We had planned to be chamber maids in a Swiss hotel, but our employment fell through at the last minute. Instead, we traveled through Europe for two months on what I will politely call a lean budget. 

We trudged through London in rain so heavy I thought my shoes would never dry out. We explored what seemed like every Viennese hovel in which Beethoven had ever lived (and there were a lot of them). We toured Paris, Venice, Florence, Rome and Pisa. We scrambled to find places to sleep, and sometimes they were train compartments. 

The trip cemented our friendship, brought it through the decades. I think of our travels now with great wonder and gladness. They bring Nancy closer, which is where I want her to be. 

(Nancy and I spent many hours in train stations, though not this one, which is in Edinburgh.)