In Miniature

In Miniature

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A view of the Capitol Fireworks I’d never seen before, from across the Potomac and down a few miles. The fireworks in miniature but just as splendid.

The spectators were a mini United Nations; they spoke Spanish, Arabic, Chinese, Tagalog (maybe). Babies toddled, parents chased, teenagers stared not at the sky but at their phones. Some people sat on blankets, others on the grass. Some had packed elaborate spreads, but more had simply wandered over with a snack and a soda.

Like the fireworks, the venue was a miniature, a snapshot of our country now.

The Fourth in History

The Fourth in History

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I know at least two re-enactors at Gettysburg this week, one fighting for the North and one for the South. And I remember the school trips each of the girls took to the battlefield in sixth grade, playing out roles in their own Picketts’ Charge.

There’s a battlefield site minutes from here where another battle was fought, the Battle of Ox Hill (or the Union name, the Battle of Chantilly) and I think I’ll go there today. It’s a place I’ve passed several hundred times and always meant to see. It’s tucked between malls, hidden in plain sight, a bit of history almost buried by modern life.

But it’s still there, not quite five acres. And visiting it seems like a good way to celebrate the day, here in the Old Dominion.

What To Do When It Rains

What To Do When It Rains

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Conked out to rain, woke up to rain. Rain on the weekend, on Monday, Tuesday, now Wednesday. Dodging the drops to take a walk. Today if there’s a break I’ll be outside again.

Meanwhile, morning arrives gray and soggy. It’s a good day to clean the basement, sort through old files. Only that’s not what I want to be doing on July 3!

Tomorrow will be better, they say. Until then, I pile the books beside me. Four from the library yesterday and another, electronic one I couldn’t find in hard copy. That’s the one I’m reading now.

I’m in war-worn Berlin, riding the U-bahn, hungry, cold and afraid. Is it raining? Is it dry? Who cares?

Bird Land

Bird Land

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New bird feeders have turned our back yard into an avian paradise. Goldfinches flit from branch to seeds, sometimes posing on top of the tomato cage, a perfect perch.

This morning I watched a female hummingbird for what seemed like hours but was only minutes, long enough for her to dart in and out, sipping nectar with each rush to the feeder.

And as I write these words a pileated woodpecker nibbles at a peanut butter block.

Birds catch on quickly. They have passed on word about the chow here. It’s good, you ought to try it. And with the living room couch still turned south I have a, well, bird’s eye view of all the goings on.

Parakeets in the house, and sparrows, robins, cardinals, jays, finches, woodpeckers, chickadees and hummingbirds outside.

It’s Bird Land, for sure.

July Morning

July Morning

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This time last year we’d had plenty of heat advisories plus a derecho. This year it’s been cool and soggy. I haven’t watered the plants once!

But the humidity is building and mornings hold that familiar sigh of longing, as if they know what’s coming and are reluctant to let go of their coolness.

They, like us, know that July is finally here.

First Cup

First Cup

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Other blog post ideas were bobbing through my brain until a few seconds ago when they all flew away. Now all that remains is this, the first cup. Always the best.

For many it’s coffee; for me, it’s tea.

I’ve pondered this for years, why the first cup of the tea in the morning is the most delicious and soul-affirming. Because it has been more than 20 hours since the last? Because the tea is at its hottest when the pot is full?

Or is it something more universal, not just first cups of tea but first anythings? In this case, however, the novelty is long gone. Instead it is part anticipation, part vivid reminder. Here is what warm liquid feels like on the tongue, the throat. Here is what caffeine does to the waking brain. Here is morning again, much more tolerable.

Today I’m drinking tea from the largest mug I have. So the first cup lasts twice as long.

Musical Chairs

Musical Chairs

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The summer house is haphazard. Chairs moved from living room to deck depending upon weather and visitors. Beach towels draped over stools. Kitchen table cluttered because we’re eating outside.

I’m reminded of a time (a time that is still happening in many parts of the world) when a room had many uses: eating, sleeping, working. And only the time of day or position of a table would declare that room’s current purpose.

In this case, there was/is no parlor or den, no kitchen or dining room, no bedroom or sleeping porch. There was/is just one room. The living room — though it was not called that. People were too busy living in it to name it.

In summer, we’re always moving our chairs (and tables, too).  It’s delightfully disorienting. So the message, then, is this: Look carefully before you sit; make sure there’s something there before you do.

Before and After

Before and After

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Time for a warm-weather hair cut. Everyone needs one.

The new Copper is about five pounds lighter. He frolics around like a young lamb. A young, shorn lamb, that is.

Now we know it’s really summer.

Breathing Space

Breathing Space

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A pause is in order, longer than a post or even a day. But for now this will have to do. Feeling the breath rush out of my lungs and the sharp intake of new air. Remembering the tang of salt spray, the sound of surf and sea birds.

For now the pause comes from the picture and remembering how I felt when I took it. A beach day ahead of me, a sunrise, a walk, a bike ride and a quiet afternoon with a good book.

There, that’s better.

Farewell, Kara!

Farewell, Kara!

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I’m blessed with congenial and talented colleagues, people who are fun to be with and who take their work seriously. One of these colleagues is leaving today. This post is for her.

In the great divide between people who are real and people who are fake, Kara falls squarely into the “real” category. When confronted with the sort of antics that bedevil most large organizations, Kara puts them all into perspective with a single arched eyebrow.

Kara is a gifted listener. She remembers the names of everyone’s kids and favorite teams. “You should have a sign on your desk that says ‘The Doctor is In,'” I tell her, forgetting she’s probably not old enough to remember the “Peanuts” cartoon. But Kara gets it anyway. She’s one of those people who’s as beloved by the 15-year-old intern as she is the 65-year-old messenger.

Because my parents lived in Pittsburgh for a year early in their marriage, I grew up hearing that the friendliest people in the world live there. Once I knew Kara’s hometown, she became Exhibit A.

Next week Kara returns to Pittsburgh, depriving the Nation’s Capital (never known for its friendliness) of one of its most gracious citizens. It’s a good move for Kara, a big loss for us. But I promised myself I wouldn’t be sad. So this is a happy post (trying hard to smile)!

Good Luck, Kara. Come back and see us soon!

(Photo: Peanuts Wiki)