A Community of Voters

A Community of Voters

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I voted after work, entered the almost empty gym of Fox Mill Elementary School as the new, earlier darkness was settling over the suburbs.

It brings back memories, this polling place: all the trips I’ve taken there, many with one or several kids in tow, introducing them to the mysteries of the voting machine, giving them a sense of civic responsibility.

Today, as for the last many years, I voted alone. But not really.

When I gave the clerk my name and address, she smiled: “I think everyone on Fort Lee Street has voted today.”

Really? I said, with a grin I didn’t think I could muster. I felt a sense of silent community with my neighbors. Pride of place? Not exactly, but close.

Yes, I voted. And I wasn’t the only one.


(What I saw on the way to the polling place.)

Late Fall

Late Fall

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The colors of late fall are mature, subtle ones. The flamers, the few we had, have flamed out. What’s left are russets, dark oranges, pale golds.

When I wander in the woods, I slide through piles of dried leaves. This is where all the color has gone. Shriveled, crisped, beaten by rake and foot.

But this, I remind myself, is how new leaves begin. The soil for saplings is being crushed and created all around us. And though the brave colors are fading,  new colors are waiting in bud and stem.

Mental Map

Mental Map

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What wakes the mind before the body is ready? Does sleep’s string snag on
a jagged dream?  Whatever the cause, suddenly thoughts are spinning again.

There is only so much one can do when
unconscious. Best to seek its return as quickly as possible. Shift from back to
side, flip the pillow to find its cool undercoat. Seek the trail of breadcrumbs back to oblivion.

As Hansel and Gretel discovered, though, breadcrumbs are not reliable. Pebbles work better. They
gleam in the dark; they light the way home. 
Best of all, though, is to memorize the
way. To have a mental map and follow it.
The Rest of Us

The Rest of Us

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Yesterday was All Saints Day; today is All Souls Day.

This is the day for good intentions and ragged realities: prayers not said and penances not completed. Gratitude glossed over in the crush of living.

This is the day for apologies and starting over and resolving to do better next time.

This is not a day for the practically perfect in every way.

This is a day for the rest of us.

Google Gripe

Google Gripe

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To write this blog I must sign in to my account. And starting a couple of days ago, I was told I must sign in via a fancy new one-account Google sign-in.

At work I must sign in to Google to view the calendar and learn when my colleagues will be taking vacation. I must also sign in to Google to learn the analytics of the magazine I edit. To do the latter two, I’ve been using Google Chrome (the only way I can get to the calendar).

This goes under the category of “biting the hand that feeds you,” but … I’m starting to get enough of Google. The thought of moving my blog is headache-inducing for sure. But still, a girl’s gotta dream.


(A seasonal photo that has absolutely nothing to do with Google!)

Haunted House

Haunted House

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The stairs creak, the floor groans — night sounds of the empty nest.

When the house was full of children I used to joke that we didn’t need those fake cobwebs, we had the real thing. Our house was messy because we were too busy to clean it.

The house is tidier now, but trick-or-treaters will be the only kids I see. No one to carve the pumpkin (though Celia helped with that last week when she was here for fall break). No one to watch “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow” and laugh at Bram Bones. No one to borrow my eyeliner for drawing a fake mustache.

Luckily, the house is haunted. Not with evil spirits, but with good ones. All the years, tears, giggles — all the drama — it’s here somewhere; I’m convinced of it. And on this day of spirits, it doesn’t take much imagination to find it. 

Rhythm of the Amble

Rhythm of the Amble

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Lately I’ve been running as much as walking. This may be good for my physical well-being but I’m missing the measured thought that comes with slower foot fall.

I’ve written about this before, but it’s worth more rumination. My theory has been that running requires enough effort that there is little left for anything else.

But the other day, on an especially soothing woods walk, another possibility presented itself: It’s the rhythm of the amble — left, right, left, right — allowing each step its own percussive moment. It’s trance-inducing after a while. And very conducive to cogitation.

Then again, it may have been the autumn color and the deepening dusk that worked its magic.

Walkable City

Walkable City

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“Walking is a simple and a useful thing, and such a pleasure,
too. It is what brings planeloads of Americans to Europe on holiday, including even some of the traffic engineers who make our own cities so inhospitable.”  — Jeff Speck, Walkable City
 It would take far more than a single post to describe all the ideas in this book, thoughts about walkability from one of the nation’s foremost experts on it, the city planner Jeff Speck. For now here are Speck’s “Ten Steps of Walkability”:
 Put cars in their place
Mix uses
Get parking right
Let transit work
Protect the pedestrian
Welcome bikes
Shape the spaces
Plant trees
Make friendly and unique spaces
Pick your winners
Speck mentions European cities throughout the book. Here are places where pedestrians rule, where public transit safely transports people to and from their destinations, where bikes are welcome and buildings create human-scaled places.
What all these features combine to create is a walkable environment, one people want to stroll through and be part of.  We need to value “moving under one’s own power at a relaxed pace through a public sphere that
continually rewards the senses,” Speck says. “We need a new normal in America, one that
rewards walking.”

Marathon Girl

Marathon Girl

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Her first achievement was signing up, a marathon of its own, requiring hours online and the drive to submit her name ahead of tens of thousands of others.

And then there was the training, which began in March and involved a byzantine schedule of long runs and short runs building up to yesterday’s 26.2 miles (excuse me, 26.6 miles, according to her Garmin).

For some reason, she decided that the training should also include a triathlon, a swim-bike-run event that left her with a sprained ankle less than two months before the big race. But she pushed through that, too, with an air boot and lots of determination.

And finally, yesterday, all the hard work and determination paid off.  Not much more than a year and a half since she started running, Claire successfully completed the Marine Corps Marathon.

There were many moments I’ll remember, ones I didn’t photograph because I was too busy hugging her, but this is one that will stick with me.

Cleaning Up

Cleaning Up

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As one who routinely gives short shrift to sleep, cutting corners whenever possible, I read the newspaper article with great interest. Reporting on a study published in the journal Science, the article said that new imaging techniques have allowed researchers to better understand how the brain cleans cells during sleep.

Apparently, the space between cells expands while we’re snoozing — which gives a network that drains cellular waste from the brain more space to flush out the toxins.When we sleep less, the brain can’t go about this housekeeping function as efficiently — and toxins build up. No wonder my head feels foggy the morning after I’ve slept five hours or less.

This finding explains the restorative nature of sleep and may also help scientists better understand Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s diseases.

All I know is, I’ve gone to bed earlier and slept later ever since I read the article. And that’s a good thing.