The Places In Between

The Places In Between

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In the winter of 2002, Rory Stewart walked across Afghanistan. He arrived six weeks after the Taliban fell, and he dodged landmines, snow storms and rogue tribal chiefs along the way.

Stewart’s walk through Afghanistan was part of a larger trek that included 16 months of walking 20 to 25 miles a day across Iran, Pakistan, India and Nepal.

All of which makes him an expert on walking. But don’t take my word for it. Here’s a passage from The Places In Between:

I thought about evolutionary historians who argued that walking was a central part of what it meant to be human. Our two-legged motion was what first differentiated us from the apes. It freed our hands for tools and carried us on the long marches out of Africa. As a species, we colonized the world on foot. Most of human history was created through contacts conducted a walking pace….

And Stewart thought these thoughts — of course — while walking!

First Bird

First Bird

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I often think (and have probably written) about the first bird of the morning. I heard it just seconds ago, a truncated chirp, perhaps a clearing of the throat more than anything else. A bird who, like me, woke up before his alarm.

A question: Do birds toss and turn? I doubt it. There are a couple of parakeets in the house and though they might flap and flutter during the day, their rest always seems restful. Heads tucked in wings, a picture of repose.

After a few quiet minutes, the first bird is at it again. It’s still dark outside, as dark as 2 a.m., maybe darker. But the wild birds know that morning is here. 

Flash Flood

Flash Flood

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Flash flood warnings are up in the area. Little Difficult Run, which winds its way through the region, has been known to spill over its banks, sending streams of water across low-lying roads and driving us into convoluted detours to avoid its overspill.

Today I’m working at home, so the only puddles I’ll dodge will be the ones in the driveway on the way to get the newspaper.

But if so inclined I could slip on a jacket, grab an umbrella and tramp through the woods to see if the creek is behaving itself this morning. Maybe I’ll do that. Just to stay in fighting trim.


(A tributary of Little Difficult Run in an earlier, quieter mood.)

Fort Lee Ballroom

Fort Lee Ballroom

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The dance is over but the dance floor remains. Carpet rolled up in the garage, floor clean and swept, new stereo receiver waiting for a willing iPod and the playlists I fiddled with for weeks.

Now when it rains and the trampoline is water-logged, this is where I’m hanging out. I have to be alone, of course, or at least with others involved enough in other projects that they won’t critique my style, which is eclectic to say the least. And at some point we may have to put at least one of the cars in the garage and move the table out.

But for now … we have a ballroom!

Two Libraries

Two Libraries

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A recent Price Waterhouse Coopers report tells us that the consumer e-book market will surpass the print book market by 2017.

An accompanying chart shows the two lines converging: a pale yellow (easily breached?) line for the print market, and a robust red line for the e-book market, rising at an impossibly audacious angle from 2008 to 2017.

The revolution from manuscript to printed book took centuries. From the looks of it, the digital revolution will not last as long. Could it happen in a generation?

If so, we who are living through it are left with spinning heads and two libraries: one that is real, one that is virtual.
 

State House Dome

State House Dome

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On Monday, a rainy afternoon gave way to a clear evening, and a walk along Annapolis’s main street after dark gave us this view.

It’s the Maryland State House dome. Completed in 1794, it’s “the oldest and largest wooden dome of its kind in the United States,” a fact sheet tells me.

But on that early summer night, as it shone between the other, darkened buildings, it was a thing of beauty most of all.

Parentitis

Parentitis

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The condition of senioritis is well documented. Symptoms include poor attendance at school, lack of attention to homework and a marked increase in silliness of all types.

What is far less known or understood is parentitis. This condition afflicts the parents of high school seniors, especially parents of high school seniors who are also youngest children. Mothers and fathers in this predicament find themselves policing the home, chasing kids back to school and enjoying gallows humor of all types.

They would like to enjoy themselves like their high school seniors, but alas they cannot. They are too busy making sure that final projects are completed.

But though time seems to stand still, it actually does not. Graduation day will arrive, and they pray their child will be among those marching in to “Pomp and Circumstance.” And when the tassels have been moved and the diplomas awarded, then their fun will really begin.

Picture Perfect

Picture Perfect

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In honor of today’s weather — blue skies, low humidity, green leaves, red roses (I could go on…) — a picture of outside.

A window frame, a window gone (this was during last summer’s new siding, roof and window project) and another perfect early summer day.

Preserved then so we can celebrate now.

Saturday Night Fever

Saturday Night Fever

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On Saturday night we rolled up the carpet, cranked up the stereo and
lured some aging boomers (and even younger folk) out on the dance
floor.

Blaring from the new sound system were the Supremes, the Beatles and disco classics like “I Will Survive.” At one point there were probably 20 people jumping and jiving.

The ersatz dance floor is so nice I’m letting it stay a while, meaning that the couch and wing chairs are  crammed into half of the living room with extra stuff piled in the garage. The open floor is  begging for an encore of “YMCA.”

Saturday Night Fever? Maybe. Or maybe not. Maybe this should happen every night of the week.

It occurred to me Saturday (as it has often recently), that
people would be much happier if only they could spend part of every day
dancing.

 (Photo: Theatrical Release Poster from Wikipedia.)

Directions

Directions

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Yesterday on a shuttle bus back to a parking garage outside of Baltimore, I was fiddling with my phone looking for directions to my next destination. As usual, I was a little flummoxed by the gadget. So at some point I put it down and asked the man next to me, who was wearing a blue Hawaiian-print shirt that said “Aloha” on the back, if he knew the way.

“Sure do,” he said, not skipping a beat. “You go to the corner and turn left, and when you hit the traffic circle you take Dulaney Valley Road.”

It sounded simple enough. I took his directions and stuck with them — even though the cars were crawling and I kept wondering if I’d heard him correctly.

But eventually the traffic circle appeared and so did Dulaney Valley Road, and before long I was where I needed to be.

A little story about trusting people instead of machines? Yes, but more than that. Later that day at a luncheon almost an hour away, I saw the man from the bus again. He was sitting at the very next table. His back was to us, but I knew it was him. I could see the “Aloha” on his shirt.