SciWonk

Justice After 10 Years

2011-05-02T00:25:00.003-04:00

Tonight, President Obama announced that American operatives had killed Osama Bin Laden. The speech was delivered beautifully, and many people view this as justice that has been 10 years in the making. People I know who had friends killed on September 11th felt a sense of relief. It is a bright day in American history.

Members of the Police Officers’ Association of Michigan (POAM) Assault Two Women at Local Washington, DC Restaurant

2010-05-15T02:12:00.003-04:00

The POAM, the Police Officers’ Association of Michigan, rented a bus and treated members to a “night on the town,” on Capitol Hill at the Tune Inn, a bar located at 331 1/2 Pennsylvania, Avenue, Southeast, in Washington, DC. Police officers from cash-strapped Michigan¸ paid by taxpayer dollars, packed a local DC dive bar and assaulted two female DC residents while there.

According to multiple accounts, badge-wearing police officers from Michigan assaulted at least two women at the local Capitol Hill diner. One woman was groped by a POAM member as she walked toward the restroom. Another woman was groped by multiple members of the POAM party as she stood near the entrance of the Tune Inn.

“The Tune Inn was recently featured by the Food Network as one of America’s hidden gems, as far as diners go,” said one eyewitness. “It’s a shame that badge-wearing members of the Police Officers’ Association of Michigan not only turned the Tune Inn into a raucous dive, but also into a place where women are objectified. When did the Tune Inn become a place to worry about getting groped while walking to the ladies’ room? I had always viewed the Tune Inn as a comfortable spot to relax. My guard is up from now on,” said one woman. "Multiple Michigan police officers were wearing badges, drinking alcohol, and carrying guns. That is irresponsible at best."

After the first assault incident, where a woman’s buttocks were squeezed by a POAM member as she tried to make her way to the restroom, the situation quickly escalated to a dispute. As the woman accused the perceived offender, another member of POAM told the local resident to “get out of here,” indicating that drinks at the Tune Inn were either being paid by him or by POAM and thus, Michigan taxpayer dollars.

“In Washington, where everything is built on a person’s professional reputation, it’s shocking that behaviors such as those like groping women at a DC restaurant still persist, and people still believe that’s acceptable...especially at the Tune Inn, a beloved neighborhood diner,” said a person at the scene.

“The members of POAM are paid by Michigan taxpayer dollars. It’s certainly feasible, considering the scarcity of jobs in that state, that more upstanding citizens should be worthy of support from hard-working, Michigan taxpayers. Shame on members of POAM for implicitly objectifying women in our nation’s Capitol.”

Commuting

2010-03-03T18:39:00.000-05:00

Being on this crowded 30s bus reminds me of my old commute from Chantilly to Old Town, Alexandria. It was 1.5 hours each way. I was living temporarily with a relative, and rent was free. I had a new job in a new town.

Once, I recall dozing off on an Orange Line train heading into the city from the 'burbs one morning. I awoke, realizing that I was leaning heavily on a man's shoulder.

I tried to be cool and slowly lean off the shoulder. I don't even think I said anything. Just tried to play it cool. I don't remember his face; I think I tried to avoid eye contact. It was kind of embarrassing.

The joys of commuting...

Harry Reid Emphasizes Value of STEM Education

2009-11-06T15:05:00.003-05:00

Kudos to Senator Reid for his interest in educational activities in science, technology, engineering, and math for young people.

Check out this video:

Advice for Lobbyists

2009-06-17T22:26:00.013-04:00

MEMORANDUM

TO: High-paid DC Lobbyist

FROM: Congressional Staffer of 6 Years

RE: Do’s and Don’ts of Meetings with Congressional Staff

1. Do NOT touch your Blackberry when you are meeting with me.

I was once in a meeting with a well-paid lobbyist and six of his out-of-town clients. As the out-of-towners attempted to make their case to me, his Blackberry make sounds twice. Then, he had the nerve to pick it up, check it, and send a message during the meeting.

Finally, I looked at his client and said, “I am having trouble hearing the message that you are trying to deliver today because his Blackberry is so distracting.” The look she gave him suggested that his contract may be ending soon.

Same goes for your phones. Silence them prior to the meeting.

2. Don’t schedule a meeting with me without confirming.

A paid-for-hire “executive scheduler” named Kevin S. has this system for setting up meetings with our office:

(a) He contacts the Member’s scheduler to request a meeting for his client;

(b) Scheduler nixes the request and punts it to me;

(c) He sets a time of his choosing and informs me via voicemail that his out-of-town clients have been advised of this “tentative time.” Will I confirm.

(d) I’m busy and don’t get the chance to let Kevin S. know that I have a schedule conflict.

(e) Clients show up; I’m unable to meet with them due to conflict;

(f) I call Kevin S. to ask him not to set meetings until he has confirmed with me;

(g) Kevin hangs up on me and calls my superior to complain.

This, I tell you, is the perfect recipe for having your calls to a Congressional staffer never returned again.

3. Don’t openly break the rules.

A certain health care lobbyists drives a navy Maserati. Colleagues have seen the Maserati enter secure areas without a permit. Not sure how Capitol Police would explain that. Public records say he made half a million in 2007 off of lobbying.

4. Don’t go around me to my superior.

Maserati-lobbyist also loves to walk into the office and directly into our chief of staff’s office. He wants to talk health care. The chief asks me to handle it because chief is overwhelmed with multiple projects. Mr. Maserati continues to rarely make an appointment and expects me to drop everything when he walks in – once before 10am. I’m really busy. Please don’t do that.

5. Don’t try bribery.

I have actually been on more than one phone call, and the person on the other end wants to talk policy/legislation in the same breath as a fund raiser for my boss. At that moment, I immediately cut him off and say, “Ethics rules disallow me to discuss campaign matters with you at this time.”

‘Nuf said. Please check with the Ethics Committee for further clarification.

6. Don’t flaunt your money.

We all know that many of the lobbyists who come into our offices make big money. Especially if they work for: (1) Big Oil; (2) any health insurance company or conglomeration; (3) most “energy companies,” or (4) specialty health care physicians; (5) trial lawyers; or (6) Big Pharma.

While it’s your conscience about for whom you work, don’t flash your money while you are asking the federal government for money. No huge diamonds. No Rolexes. No designer labels. No obvious recent plastic surgery.

Better yet, hire yourself a 20-something “junior lobbyist” to do this work for you. It’s likely that the Congressional staffer is her age, and they’ll jive a lot better anyway.

7. Do keep the meeting less than 20 minutes.

It is not a good thing if a staffer starts to stack up her papers while you’re meeting with her. That means you have gone on too long, and please wrap it up. If she says, “Well, we need to wrap up the meeting,” that means that the meeting is over.

The folder that you gave us will end up on our desks, at best, in a huge stack of other folders. Today, I had seven meetings from 1:30-5pm. Following up increases the odds that your request will be considered. No follow-up signals to us that you don’t care that much.

8. Do bring 3 people or fewer.

Congressional offices are small places. More than 4 people coming in for a meeting means one thing: the meeting will occur out in the hallway. It’s not a sign of disrespect, it’s simple logistics.

9. Don’t flirt during the meeting OR afterward.

A lobbyist whom I find very charming and with whom I like to work serendipitously met me out at a bar a couple months ago. After a couple drinks, his compliments to me started to get uncomfortably personal. Now I feel awkward trying to work with him. Bleh.

10. Don’t lie to the scheduler.

We’ve actually had lobbyists come in and tell the scheduler that they were “cleared” to come in and give our Member an award and do a photo-op. Cleared by WHOM? That maneuver was shot down faster than you can say, “Cheese!”

Entrances

2009-06-11T09:14:00.001-04:00

"Is it always this busy?"

Overheard, Cannon House Office Building, southwest entrance; one new guard spoke to another longer-time guard. 8:58am.

The answer is no. That entrance gets crowded only when there is a line waiting at Longworth's southeast entrance (across the street). Normally it is among the least busy entrances to the House office buildings.

Dr. Margaret Ellis Bourdeaux Saves the Life of Dr. Gene Dresselhaus

2009-05-16T23:10:00.006-04:00

During the annual National Science Foundation Awards Gala, honors were being given for a lifetime achievement, a distinguished young investigator, and an organization that has done noteworthy outreach.

The event was a black-tie affair, and the guest list contained many influential people in the science policy community. Dr. John P. Holdren, the new Director of the Office of Science and Technology Policy, attended and addressed the guests. A sumptuous dinner was served, and the awards presentation commenced.

Dr. Mildred “Millie” Dresselhaus was at the head table. After receiving an award for lifetime achievement, she was seated back at the side of her husband, Dr. Gene Dresselhaus. She held his hand, and he appeared to be falling asleep. She squeezed his palm with her fingers to try to awake him, to no avail. Within 30 seconds, Gene had slumped in his chair and was literally leaning on a member of the National Science Board.

For a few moments, the award presentations awkwardly continued. Finally, the men at the head table gently lowered Gene onto the carpet, on his back. He appeared to be unconscious.

Suddenly, from the adjacent table, Dr. Margaret Ellis Bourdeaux, who was in attendance, stood and rushed over, like a breeze. Her curly, bright red hair, fair skin, and teal full-length gown were striking, but not as striking as her calm and direct actions.

Dr. Bourdeaux, dress be damned, knelt down beside Dr. Dresselhaus, very close to his face.

“Gene. Gene! Gene, can you hear me? GENE, CAN YOU HEAR ME?” She calmly spoke to Dr. Dresselhaus. She leaned close to his face to ascertain whether he was breathing, her frizzy red hair covering his face. He was not breathing.

“I’m doing chest compressions,” she stated calmly. She leaned over him and promptly began doing CPR. Her fair arms began performing thirty gentle chest compressions. Then mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Two breaths. Thirty more chest compressions. Mouth…

Gene let out a very loud cough. “Gene, are you okay?” Dr. Bourdeaux asked.”

“Yes,” was the answer, in a weak voice.

Dr. Bourdeaux began talking quietly to him, asking him various questions to assess consciousness. His hand touched his chest. He drew his knees up a little. He remained lying on the floor.

Within ten minutes, an ambulance had arrived. Space was cleared in the dining hall, and paramedics transported him out on a stretcher.

Watching Dr. Bourdeaux save the life of Dr. Gene Dresselhaus, right there at my feet, was an amazing experience. It was an occurrence that deeply touched everyone in that room. It made me think about how transient and brief all of our lives are. How everything we strive for, all of the relationships, all of the education, everything…can be snuffed out like a candle suddenly. Life is so transient.

Dr. Margaret Ellis Bourdeaux should have received an award that night. She was the true hero of the evening.

We all will be forever indebted to her for what she did. A man could have died that night in the diplomatic rooms, just as his wife had received a career achievement award. Instead, Dr. Bourdeaux demonstrated incredible courage and skill to avert the crisis.

Bravo!

Compact Digital Camera with Flip Screen

2009-05-12T23:37:00.004-04:00

Would somebody please create a compact digital camera that has a swivel LCD screen? My old Canon has one, but it's big and is getting old. So I'm looking for a fun, compact point-and-shoot. I know that adding a swivel screen adds a bit to the bulk of the camera, but there are things swivel-screen cameras can do that others can't, such as taking pictures from odd angles.

Example 1: From the ground.
Gorgeous crabapple trees were blooming in the median near 4th and Penn Ave, SE. My intention was to take a photo from ground-level, looking up. With a swivel screen, I could have easily set up the picture so that the shot was level with the ground. Instead, because I couldn't see the screen well, the ground was at an angle.

Example 2: Perfect backgrounds.
My friend and I were walking along the National Mall, and on impulse decided to take a hand-held snapshot of ourselves, with the U.S. Capitol in the background. It took 2 or 3 tries before we had a good shot of us, with the the dome perfectly aligned in the background. This would have been a piece of cake with a swivel screen.

Example 3: Timed photos.
Traveled to Giant's Causeway in Ireland last fall. I set the camera on the rocks, put the timer on 10 seconds, and swiveled the screen so that I could line up the picture. Swivel screen enabled me to simply press the button and back up a few paces.

Example 4: Taken from overhead.
I did see someone else make this point elsewhere, but if you're standing in a crowd and want to take a picture from a higher angle, the swivel screen enables you to see the shot before you press the button. Otherwise, it's not possible to see what you are photographing, and composing your picture becomes blind trial-and-error.

I really feel that there is a paucity of information out there singing the praises of swivel screen LCDs. Why doesn't some camera company respond to the call and make one? I'd be first in line to buy it. Others have been requesting it as well.

As far as I can tell, no such product exists. Entrepreneurs, go at it!

Up at Night

2009-04-02T05:40:00.001-04:00

Sometimes, especially when life gets extra-busy, stressful, or there's a lot of change swirling 'round, I wake up at night and can't quickly fall back asleep.

Tonight, I awoke at 5. Usually, it's 4am.

I've noticed:

-The 30s Metro buses begin running at 5. I begin to hear their heavy, groaning engines, rumbling by, a block away. I think of my friend, who I call, "Squire," who is a teacher and who buses across town early in the morning. Buses and 5am seem like a bad combo.

-Traffic starts to pick up. What are all these people doing at this ungodly hour? I snuggle under soft flannel linens and am thankful that I'm not operating a car at this hour (nor any time!). I hear the whoosh sound of cars-gliding-across-pavement as they pass. Sometimes, I'll hear a noisy service truck rumble by, and I mentally draft a letter to Mayor Fenty to try and ban large trucks from neighborhood streets.

-There's a bird in the budding sugar maple outside my window that sings like crazy. Actually, now I hear a small bird chorus. Why are all of these city birds singing their little souls out, in the hours before dawn? Are they confused? I can identify with that: they sing when they're not supposed to, but the song is in the soul, and must come out.

-The house is finally quiet. I am one of four group house occupants. We're a "Craigslist house," as are so many in the District, meaning that the roommates came together via Craigslist, rather than being friends prior to living together. Once in a while, someone is up at 4... but not tonight.

-I feel energetic, like I could jump up and run around the block. I lie here, curious about why I wake up at this hour. I sift through emotions. Some nights, it bugs me that I wake up like this. Other nights, I'm awash with feelings of gratefulness about my life. Still others, I analyze old relationships or consider my next job move. Tonight, I'm blogging.

When I woke up tonight, I checked my Blackberry and saw that someone I don't know had actually commented on my blog, in the wee hours of the morning. It encouraged me. So rarely do I receive a comment, that I often just feel like I blog in a vacuum, and no one else really reads it. But tonight was not the case. Maybe this is an example of the power of positive reinforcement.

The House votes today on a bill to allow the Food and Drug Administration the authority to regulate tobacco. I hope that it actually makes it to the President's desk. I need to go back to sleep, so that I can be of sharp mind at work. I'll try now.

Goodnight, Internets.

Cutting my Shin: a Memory Comes Flooding Back

2009-03-25T20:55:00.008-04:00

It was in the early 1980s - I was 10 or 11 years old. Our new house was under construction. Mom, Dad, my sister, and my friend, Joy D., went to check on the progress.

Joy and I were playing on the front porch. There was a piece of aluminum sheet metal nearby. I pretended to stumble over it -- except that I cut it too close, and really stumbled over it.

I looked down at my left shin. There was a 1.5 inch slice in my shin, and the taut skin had pulled open into a surprise-mouth shape. Blood streamed down my leg.

The next few minutes were a blur. I remember Mom rushing me to the doctor's office. She worked for Dr. Brooks and must have put in a quick call. I remember sitting in the front seat of the car, applying pressure to the wound. There was a towel.

Then I remember being in the doctor's office, crying and wailing, lying on my back on a cushioned patient table. Dr. Brooks began to quickly sew up the wound. Ms. Donna, a lovely, young nurse, came over to hold me, to keep me from squirming. I was really squirming and crying.

Ms. Donna leaned over my upper body, almost in a hug. Her long, layered dark hair was soft and perfume-scented. The weight of her, her gentle words, her soft hair...they soothed me. The memory is as vivid as if it happened yesterday.

We should remember that there are key moments in a life, moments that have a lasting impact and are not forgotten. Ms. Donna's simple gesture of kindness and compassion meant the world to a terrified child in that moment.

I'll never forget it, for as long as I live.

Capitol Dome Tonight

2009-03-23T20:08:00.009-04:00

I jogged around the Capitol grounds tonight. I passed others:

- A man with a tripod, intensely focused on a "blue light" sunset photo, with a female companion looking on, her arms crossed to ward off the spring chill;

- A young athlete, jogging, iPod strapped to his bicep;

- A woman in her 20s, passing by quickly, the words, "affirmative action," trailing behind her;

- A young man of 25ish in a suit strolled past, his swinging suitcase in one hand, an illuminated Blackberry in the other; and

- A white-haired, comb-over'ed man, in his 50s, in a tan trench coat, clinking house keys.

"Oh! It's so beautiful!" I heard, as the Capitol Dome glowed in a backdrop of soft yellow and clear blue.

The tourist-like exclamation, with voice full of wonder, was mine.

*Photo credit: Big Mike NYC

Saffron Spring

2009-03-19T08:56:00.006-04:00

Daffodils in bloom,

DC blushes bright yellow;

Forsythia's next!

*Photo by tlindenbaum

Politically Incorrect

2009-03-17T18:13:00.001-04:00

Overheard, said by one Congressional staffer to another, while walking through Rayburn:

"Hmf. Smells like Tourists."

Letter from my Father

2009-03-15T20:55:00.015-04:00

"I knew you when...

You blew puffballs.
I changed your diapers, ughh!
We walked in the deep
Woods and found lucky buckeyes.
Mom terrified you by
Telling you to sweat.
Bonnie bit you.
You finally put your head
Under water at the pool.
You won the beauty contest.
We prayed together every night.
You danced the Nutcracker
In your pink tutu.
You picked peas in the pea patch.
You played with beagle puppies...

I knew you when, and the dreams
Will never end as long as Love
Endures and the soul ascends.

I watched you grow up
And knew that you and I were
The dreamers in our family.
All of my dreams did not
Come true, but you are one
That did. As a father, I am
Proud of you and will always love
And cherish you, daughter of my dreams.
And if you live your life on
Earth, full of love and forgiveness,
We will dream together with Him,
According to God's promises.
Mom and I will always love you
Because you are a part of our
Hearts, our happy dream, our joy...

(1 Corinthians 13)

happy birthday,
dad"

Mid-March Snow

2009-03-13T09:14:00.006-04:00

It is snowing at our nation's Capitol! I watch flakes float by outside my fifth-floor window in nearby vicinity.

The daffodils, crocuses, and pansies will be toughing it out. The sky is a bright glare, as the sun shines behind the cirrus clouds.

Beautiful.

Emperor's New Clothes are Made from Clean Coal

2009-03-11T11:59:00.001-04:00

- Energy derived from coal is terrible for the environment. The coal must be mined, which is bad for the miners who must obtain it and often is strip mined. Burning it emits more greenhouse gases than any other source, not to mention the soot in the air. Greenhouse gases have led to global warming, which will be devastating within the next century.

- There is no such thing as "clean coal."

- The idea of long term storage of carbon dioxide in underground geological formatuons is absolutely ludicrous. Very "Emperor's New Clothes.". What happens if there is an earthquake or meteor hit?

- Members of Congress with a lot of coal in their districts should avoid self-interests from trumping good science and energy policy.

- It is wrong to pollute the air, emit tons of greenhouse gases, and stip-mine the land because it is "good business."

The American people deserve so much better.

Orszag

2009-03-11T11:55:00.002-04:00

Overheard:

"Be bald and proud."

Unsolicited advice from a staffer, sitting in a committe lounge and looking at today's front cover of The Hill newspaper.

A Song that Sums It

2009-03-08T10:09:00.008-04:00

From "Train Wreck"
- Sarah McLachlan

Your love in all its finery
Tear up the darkness all around me
Until I can breathe again
Until I believe again

But your eyes like midnight fireflies
Light up the trenches where my heart lies
Until I can see again
Find my way back again

From your mouth, it's all that I wish
Mercy of your lips, just one kiss
Until I can breathe again
Until I can sing again

Cause I'm a train wreck
Waiting to happen
Waiting for someone to come pick me up off the tracks
A wild fire born of frustration
born of the one love that gets me so high

I've no fear at all
To fall so deep into you
Loose myself completely
In your sweet embrace
All my pain's erased

32 Bus, East Side

2009-03-07T08:37:00.002-05:00

Overheard cell phone conversation:

"So, is that a birthmark, or is it that... uh uh...that thang you told me about, that's spreadin'?"

The joys of adulthood.

Health care reform

2009-03-06T12:56:00.002-05:00

"Everyone's at the table b/c no one wants to be on the menu."

- Michael Cannon of Cato Institute, regarding health care reform

To Reflect

2009-03-04T20:20:00.005-05:00

I was just looking at some pictures from 2005. Contemplated on friends I had then, relatives I visited, houses I stayed in, places that were familiar and dear to me.

Things are so very different now. It just amazes me how much can happen in four years.

Relationships have developed and waned. Weight has been lost and gained. Hobbies have come and gone. Jobs have changed. Loves have been found and lost. Some folks are engaged – or with significant others who weren’t in the picture back then. Others have had their hearts broken, picked up the pieces, and learned lessons. Or not.

Change. It’s the only thing that we can count on.

Cougar Age is 35, Apparently

2009-02-28T17:48:00.003-05:00

[22-year-old Cute Boy on Dating Website]
"Wow. Just to let you know, I find you stunningly attractive. Your age has treated you well. It probably wouldn't work out but I felt I had to tell you anyways. Hope your weekend goes well. Southern girl with a Phd living in DC sounds to good to be true...."

[35-year-old Me, Replying to Boy]
"Hey hotness.

Thank you. Yeah...PhD...that's what happened to my 20s.

Going out with you would put me solidly in the cougar category, and while I've done it before, I try not to make a habit of that. You are a very attractive guy, though."

.

I Love Capitol Hill

2009-02-27T23:02:00.007-05:00

Capitol Hill is such a wonderful neighborhood.

I can not tell you how much richer my life is because I have zero commute. Okay; I have a 10-minute walk, but it's a gorgeous walk that is good for me.

And on nights like tonight, the festive restaurants and bars have people spilling out of them, sitting at outdoor tables or standing around outside, like flowers spilling out of a bouquet.

Capitol Hill truly has a "neighborhoodly feel," in that I know and am known by the local merchants. Folks are friendly here. Every morning, during my walk to work, I pass a gas station. Dane, who pumps gas there, always says hello to me, by name. The homeless man who hangs around there also says good morning to me. On cold days, I ask him if he's keeping warm.

I had Greek food tonight. It was this macaroni dish, with ground beef and bechamel sauce. It was delicious, and Dominic, the greeter, was so nice.

It's that iffy period just before spring's daffodils peek through the ground. Rain is often threatening, and the cloud cover and concomitant humidity make the night air balmy and mild.

In a way, Capitol Hill feels like a small town. After working on the Hill for 6 years and living here for 2 years; after countless trips to Eastern Market; after many visits to local churches; after even more visits to the Tune Inn - I'm starting to feel like a local.

Call me "Inside the Beltway" if you wish. But what I'll tell you is that the people who live and work here are genuine and kind. Most of them are hell-bent on making this world a better place in which to live. Just like me.

Almost Spring

2009-02-26T22:29:00.005-05:00

I can not wait for spring. All of this warm-teaser weather is getting to me.

Southerners struggle more than most after moving northward.

In the fall, the days quickly shorten, and the period after Christmas is especially dark and depressing. It's not quite that dark in the South. Then there's the snow and ice. Granted, the past few winters in DC have been mild, compared to others, but still. This is the time of year when the oddly warm days become more and more common.

I can almost smell spring in the air. The dampness that I felt when I walked out of the house this morning reminded me of spring showers, daffodils, forsythia and these funny little flowers that bloom a lot on Capitol Hill.

Oh, spring. Where are you? I have missed your warm touch.

Haiku

2009-02-18T09:06:00.002-05:00

SmartCars and Snowflakes;

Capitol Hill on Wednesday;

President's Day week.

Inauguration Eve, 2009

2009-01-19T21:14:00.001-05:00

I'm standing at East Capitol and 2nd Street right now. It's a clear, cold night. Not bitter cold, like last week, but a bearable chill, with proper bundling. The sightline to the Capitol from this spot is now unimpeded, thanks to the recent completion of the Capitol Visitors' Center.

It's a gorgeous winter night. The Capitol shines, and its elegant, white dome is set against a backdrop of deep, midnight navy. Not a military navy, but deeper, and nuanced in brightness.

This whole area, a 4-block radius from the Capitol, has been made pedestrian-only. It's a good thing, since literally millions of the world's citizens will be here tomorrow to witness, in person, the inauguration of Barack Obama.

I continue to walk home, in formal gown and sneakers. I hope that I will always remember this moment, so full of hope, as apparent as the night's chill upon my face.

Silver Linings

2008-12-21T12:23:00.000-05:00

Christmas has become a time of mixed feelings for me, and this particular year has seen some challenges. I'm thinking, though, that with challenges come opportunities to grow.

And, there are silver linings that become apparent only during challenging times. Two are on my mind, in this moment:

1. Friends and family.
There are people in this world who think of me and care greatly for me, and vice versa. Life's challenges allow for the deepening and strengthening of friendships and the heightened awareness of their value.

2. Spirituality.
There is something to the link between tough times and opportunities to grow spiritually. This season has brought great opportunity for contemplation and reflection. It's a time to consider lessons learned, compare-and-contrast experiences, look for patterns, and deepen the understanding of self and others.

For these things I am grateful.

What I Miss about Ireland

2008-09-04T09:37:00.004-04:00

1. The Guinness IS better.
2. Irish cider, such as Bulmer’s.
3. The sound of the surf at Cliffs of Moher.
4. The traditional music and friendly people in Doolin.
5. Savory stew at the pub.
6. The Book of Kells’ feast for the eyes.
7. The smell of burning peat.
8. Osgar’s sweet child-voice.
9. Ring forts in mist.
10. Castles at every turn.
11. Galway’s nightlife.
12. The views from the Rock of Cashel.
13. Fresh salmon. Really fresh.
14. Soft lambswool scarves and sweaters.
15. Romantic seaspray and dramatic coastline.
16. Dublin’s Grafton Street.
17. Bailey’s and steamed milk on a chilly night.
18. The Irish accent.
19. Sheep in the road.
20. The deep sense of history.

.

Real Charity Isn't Always What's Easy

2008-08-04T18:12:00.005-04:00

I'm walking to the grocery store; it's August and hot in the city. I have four, chilled Reese's Peanut Butter Cup miniatures in my bag.

Well, I DID have Reese cups in my bag. I had just savored the third one, as I approached a homeless man on the sidewalk near Seward Square.

I recognized him. He's usually near 5th and Pennsylvania Avenue, SE. He's always dressed for winter, even in 90 degree weather. He's black, in his 50s, always friendly. The last time I passed him, he greeted me boldly, and I gave him a Reese cup. I felt good about it.

Today was no different. I saw him getting closer and closer as we walked toward each other. I thought, "How nice. Here's my last Reese cup. I'll give it to him." Plunging my hand in my bag, I reached for the candy.

He stared into my eyes as I reached to hand off the candy as before. Would he remember me? No matter.

He said, "Hello, Ma'am. Would you please spare 90 cents for me to buy some water?"

In an instant, I said, "I don't have it." I let the Reese cup fall into his arthritic palm. He smiled and thanked me earnestly for the treat.

As I walked away, I felt awful. Conscience had pierced me. What if he collapsed in the next 20 mins, for lack of water, having eaten that Reese cup? I hadn't helped him at all. I did what was easy and convenient for me, and told myself that I was being helpful. He asked me for help, and I refused. What occurred to is not about me, my feelings, my convenience. It's about someone else. Charity means truly helping - not just giving blindly and hoping it helps.

How many others, like me, tell themselves that they are helping people, when the real impact of their efforts is very minimal? Or they give something that's not needed. But they give anyway because it's easy and feels good.

I'm here at the grocery store now. I'm going to buy an extra bottle of water.

**90-minute-later update: I did buy that bottle of water. I walked back along my original route and saw him. Sitting on a park bench, he looked at me and smiled. I pulled the bottle of water out of my bag. Condensation dripped from it; it was so cold, relative to the heat and humidity of that Monday afternoon. He reached for it, his gnarled hands eager.

"I was thinking of you," I said, with a smile. "Thank you, thank you!" he said.

I walked off. "Miss Lady!" he said.

I turned around.

He blew me a kiss.

I blew him one back, turned, and kept walking.

July 4th - Deserted Mall Hecklers Incident

2008-07-06T02:02:00.003-04:00

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I'm not sharing this information to scare anyone, but I do think that it's important for people to be aware of their surroundings at night - including on the National Mall.

Last night, July 4th, at around 11:40pm, I was walking along Madison Street at 5th, minding my own business, heading home alone. Three Indian men, around 30 years old, were standing near the corner of 4th and Madison, NW. They were talking and laughing loudly, just standing at the corner there. I thought that was odd, given that there were thousands of people on the Mall for the fireworks show; those people had left hours ago. There were very few people left on the Mall: an old man digging through the trash can; a loving couple; and the Three Indians. And me.

As I approached them from a half block away, I could hear their boisterous laughter. Remembering my recent incident with the Grabbing Man, I was taking no chances tonight. Pepper spray in hand, I crossed over to the other side of the street. Now I was about 30 yards away from the Three.

Suddenly, one of the guys broke away from the other two and strode in my direction. I continued crossing to the other side of the street. He continued to beeline for me. I stopped, dead in my tracks, assuming a feet-apart-I-mean-business stance. From 10 yards away, he stopped and looked at me.

"What are you doing?" I asked, with a hint of warning in my voice.

"I just was wanting to talk to you," he slurred, taking two steps toward me.

My hand tightened on the canister of pepper spray. "Do not approach me!" I said assertively.

"I just want to talk."

"I DON'T want to talk." I started to walk past as he backed up a few steps, finally turning to walk back to the Other Two.

I kept walking toward the Capitol as they reunited. I could hear him telling them that I'd gotten tough with him. I heard them heckle me, saying they weren't terrorists. They weren't American citizens. Our country sucks. I suck.

I ignored them, looked at the Capitol, and tightened my hold on the spray. They walked one direction, and I walked up Jenkins Hill. Their boisterous voices faded into the cool, damp night air.

I made it home safely.

Barack Obama Promo Video

2008-07-03T19:51:00.001-04:00

How am I just seeing this today? I really like it.

Enough

2008-06-02T22:45:00.003-04:00

I'm talking about money. What is enough?

How much must one person have, to have enough? Why is it that consuming tends to make us happy? Shopping, eating, drinking - spending - I guess that's living. But this concept of what's really "enough" to satisfy a person - I think it about a lot and never come to any conclusion.

Is what I have enough? If I take a job that doubles my salary, will then that be enough? Or will I spend more, and up to the new, higher boundaries of my means? And then feel like that's not enough? I wish that I knew the answer.

I was listening to a radio show discuss the concepts of materialism, money and happiness. Sure, spending money, energy and/or time on others does make one happy. But when a person has stress about balancing rent, food, transportation and other expenses, maybe that's the edge of not having enough money to create the comfort zone discussed by National Public Radio.

On the other hand, I'll bet that even Deion and Pilar have their limits. Rich and famous people also have the feeling of not having "enough."

How does one know the difference between not really having enough money, and that one is spending beyond one's means? Both kings and beggars have been guilty of the latter.

Harris Teeter - 1391 Pennsylvania Ave, SE.

2008-06-02T21:46:00.005-04:00

Harris Teeter opened on Capitol Hill in May, and I visited this evening. I have mixed feelings about it.

**The GOOD.
+The layout of the store is neat, with areas of aisles, instead of simple, long aisles.
+The archictecture is cool as well, and there are nice tables just outside where folks can sit and relax.
+Organic. There is a prominent focus on organic, smaller-batch when possible, sustainably grown products, and conservation. For example, in the produce section, when I reached for a plastic bag to put my sticky mangoes in, there was a big sign that urges one to re-use and recycle. I remembered that I had brought a couple plastic bags with me, so I used them.
+Ice cream selection. They have MAYFIELD ICE CREAM. This is a staple for Southerners. I saw at least 4 flavors. They also have lots of Skinny Cow and Weight Watchers options.
+Deli meats. There is a large selection of them. I requested one that had no preservatives, and the employee suggested a no-salt turkey, and it tasted as if I'd cooked it myself!
+Salsa. I saw probably 20 different kinds of salsa. Can't wait to try them all.
+Baguettes. They have a clever almost-cooked baguette. You keep it in your fridge, and when company's coming, pop it in the oven for 8 minutes. Voila! Fresh-baked baguette. Brilliant.

**The MEH.
~Cheese. Sorry, but Whole Foods kicks their butt all over town. 90% of their cheese is large-batch and lower quality.
~Seafood. I saw some sad tuna medallions that were cheaper, per pound, than catfish. How do you explain that? The fish did not look that fresh. Although I did not smell a fishy smell, which is a good sign.
~Personal care products. Selection was mighty limited for all that square footage.
~Coffee. They have Starbucks, but you'll pay $9 for it. Same price at Roland's, which is so much more convenient, at 4th and Penn, SE. They have a decent selection, but goodness it's all expensive.

**The BAD.
-Produce section. C'mon! With as large a square footage as the Teet has, there's no excuse for the tiny produce area. The Safeway, located 4 blocks away, is much better. Better yet, wait for the weekends and support local farmers at Eastern Market! Really!
-Cherries were $6 for about 1.5 cups. Ridiculous.
-One avocado: $2.69. Ludacris.
-No Dogfish Head beer. If tiny Capital Hill Liquors can carry two kinds, then the Teet can have at least one. Especially since they dedicated an acre to Woodchuck Cider. Sheesh.
-The 'hood. Regentrification takes time, and the ghetto surrounding the Gentri-oasis is rough. I was a little nervous for a few blocks, as I walked home after dark. I even veered off the sidewalk & onto the street, between 8th and 9th, to avoid a suspicious potential-perpetrator.
-Friendly-but-unhelpful staff. I witnessed the fish guy tell a customer that the hummus, located right over in the next section, was on the other side of the store. I corrected the bad directions before the poor woman set out on a quarter-mile walk to the other corner of the store.

These are my humble impressions. I'll go back there, especially if I'm craving Mayfield. I think that Safeway's better, though. My final word: ALL groceries are ridiculously expensive in DC. That's the one area where Alexandria trumps us. There, avocados are $1 apiece.

The Grabbing Man – Assault at 4th and E St, NE. 5/25/07, 6:20pm

2008-05-25T00:32:00.004-04:00

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As I walked north along 4^th Street, NE, between E Street and F Street, in broad daylight, I passed a basketball court to my right. I noticed an African American man, likely in his early 40s, approaching on the sidewalk about 10 yards away. He was an attractive man, about 6’2”, dressed in dark, silky basketball shorts and other basketball/sporting gear. He had very short, clean-cut hair, medium/dark complexion and flat abs. He had the build of a very fit basketball player.

At 5 yards away, he stared intently at me and slowed down until he was nearly stopped on the sidewalk, with a stance that he might block my path. I confidently strode along the right side of the sidewalk and attempted to pass.

Suddenly, he leaned toward me and said, “What, are ya scared of me?” He grabbed my left forearm. Adrenaline in overdrive, I wrenched free and said, "You're crazy," as I kept walking. When I had reached what I felt was a safe distance from him, about 20 yards, I yelled, as loudly as I could, “You don’t go around grabbing people, you crazy man!!!!” I heard him yelling back at me but did not see him move toward me. I quickened my pace and continued walking north toward F Street NE along 4^th. A minute later, at the corner of 4^th and F, I turned around, and I saw two young black women about 30 yards south, walking in my direction. They, too, had passed this man on the sidewalk.

I called 911 for the first time in my life. I calmly described the incident and asked them to check out the situation. As I provided the report, the two women approached me with the same fearful look in their eyes as I must have had, and they stated that the exact same thing had occurred to them.

When I reached TexDem’s house and described what had happened, she said, “That’s assault.” Nonsense, I thought. Then I thought again.

The Free Dictionary definition for assault is this:

ASSAULT, crim. law. An assault is any unlawful attempt or offer with force or violence to do a corporal hurt to another, whether from malice or wantonness; for example, by striking at him or even holding up the fist at him in a threatening or insulting manner, or with other circumstances as denote at the time. an intention, coupled with a present ability, of actual violence against his person, as by pointing a weapon at him when he is within reach of it. 6 Rogers Rec: 9. When the injury is actually inflicted, it amounts to a battery. (q.v.)
2. Assaults are either simple or aggravated. 1. A simple assault is one Where there is no intention to do any other injury. This is punished at common law by fine and imprisonment. 2. An aggravated assault is one that has in addition to the bare intention to commit it, another object which is also criminal; for example, if a man should fire a pistol at another and miss him, the former would be guilty of an assault with intent to murder; so an assault with intent to rob a man, or with intent to spoil his clothes, and the like, are aggravated assaults, and they are more severely punished than simple assaults. General references, 1 East, P. C. 406; Bull. N. P. 15; Hawk. P. B. b. 1, c. 62, s. 12; 1 Russ. Cr. 604; 2 Camp. Rep. 650 1 Wheeler's Cr. C. 364; 6 Rogers' Rec. 9; 1 Serg. & Rawle, 347 Bac. Ab. h.t.; Roscoe. Cr. Ev. 210.

DC police called and asked me to speak with an officer to provide more details about the incident, and I agreed. I reported it, face-to-face, to Office Mazloom of the Metropolitan Police Department of Washington, D.C.

Here’s a stunning follow-up:

Back home tonight, I relayed the event to my roommate, AK, and her eyes grew as wide as saucers. At approximately 9:30 tonight, she was walking home from Capitol South Metro and encountered this same man, dressed exactly as I described. He also grabbed her forearm! The coincidence was absolutely haunting.

I hope that he’s caught – soon.

Fraternity & Proximity

2008-05-10T23:34:00.004-04:00

A special thing happened tonight. I had a lovely visit with WT (the same from City Grits). She lives on Capitol Hill, as do I. We made plans for her to come and have a little refreshment and catch up before going out to dinner at a favorite neighborhood restaurant. We talked, laughed and listened to LL Cool J, Dr. Dre, A Tribe Called Quest, Bell Biv DeVoe and M.C. Solaar.

Enjoying the cool night air, we strolled to La Plaza. I am on a first-name basis with the the owner there. La Plaza has some of the best Tex-Mex in town, and Henry is one of my favorite business owners on Capitol Hill.

We rolled in at 9:45 p.m., and Henry, recognizing each of us, kissed us warmly and welcomed us in. Hot chips were immediately brought to our table. The later hour afforded us great personal service. I got the beef and cheese enchiladas, while WT got the bean burrito. We laughed that the bean burrito was "a good alone-food." All were delicious. WT and I talked and laughed, gave each other advice, and had a series of heart to hearts.

She "did the gentlemanly thing" and walked me back to my house. We stood, commenting on my fledgling gardens, and gazed down the block of roses trailing off railings along the sidewalks.

Then, the magic happened.

Striding confidently toward us was my dear friend, TxDem. She looked whole, beautiful, and exuded a radiance that I had not seen in months. Truly, she has battled some demons and has begun winning, finally. We three talked, exchanged stories, laughed, hugged.

The best thing about the whole situation is that both TxDem and WT are my neighbors. I love that I can stand out on my sidewalk, on Capitol Hill, on a Saturday night at 11 p.m., conversing with a friend, and encounter another good friend along her walk home.

It's the best of city living. To have proximity and fraternity with loved ones is rare and priceless. Walking to work is priceless. Walking to a restaurant is priceless. I am still beaming, thinking about standing out there outside my front spring-time gardens, hugging my dear friends and chatting, impromptu, about the recent goings-on of our lives. I'm savoring the surprise neighborhood reunion.

So satisfying. NOW I remember why I sacrifice so much to live where I do.

Rain

2008-05-10T08:19:00.003-04:00

I love cool, rainy mornings. They are best for lounging around and relaxing, but I don't even mind getting out in the weather. They are also good for gardening, as it provides new plantings with a moment to rest before harsh sun comes their way.

I took this video from my window on a rainy April morning. Yes, traffic may be heard, but much of the sound is of heavy rain drops pelting the new sugar maple leaves, just outside. The pansies on my front steps were crushed; yellow-and-purple faces were downturned and flattened. It still amazes me , how they are able to recover by the afternoon - standing tall again, reaching for the sun.

My heart longed for Texas during this moment. Lone Star State weather is more dramatic than storms back East. The low lands and plains topography are a perfect combination for flooding. Rain comes down as if poured from a bucket, or in sheets. Walking 15 feet without an umbrella leaves one drenched to the core.

One storm, in particular, will always stay with me. Coming home late from a party, I parked just 10 yards from my apartment. Unfortunately, I was wearing a pretty suede top. Suede is ruined by water. What would any sensible party girl do? I took off the top, rolled it up, inside-out (it was a pretty small piece of suede), tucked it under my arm, and bolted for my front door. Surely enough, by the time I entered my apartment, I was drenched to the core.

But the suede was saved! Three cheers for ingenuity.

Storms, fog, blinding sun, frost, snow, wind: all make me feel alive and grateful to experience them, if not for a brief moment.

Dark Metro - by Brownpau

2008-04-21T23:03:00.003-04:00

You can see this fun video on Brownpau's blog as well:

Falling

2008-04-12T11:36:00.003-04:00

The huge cherry tree
Is blooming again.
Underneath countless pink flowers,
We had our last meal together:

Little white lights twinkling overhead,
Petals falling like star showers,
Into our dinner, our hair- assuaging us,
The Milky Way crying for us
One year ago.

Spring Wind

2008-04-10T23:53:00.003-04:00

It's the end of the day.
I'm looking out the window;
Soft, fading light bronzes the
Cannon Building, across the way.

Ocean waves of balmy wind pour in,
Kissing my soul's tempest.
My hair streams like ribbons
Around the Maypole of spring.

LJ Joins Another Dating Site - and has Lots to Say

2008-04-07T23:10:00.003-04:00

Tips for the unsuspecting male online date prospect, from our sweet LJ.

Advice

2008-04-07T00:27:00.001-04:00

I love this poem:

Advice

Folks, I'm telling you,
Birthing is hard
And Dying is mean
So get yourself
Some loving in between.

- Langston Hughes

Paths

2008-04-06T23:21:00.010-04:00

Life’s journey--
Of dirt roads,
Slick city streets,
Broad avenues, dark alleys;
Cobblestone, weeds,
Snow and black ice--

The paths are traveled with
Family who nurse us from the womb and cradle,
Feed us, change our diapers,
While we are helpless
To do for ourselves.

Friends, may walk for years beside us,
Or for only a few minutes,
Close at our sides,
We see them clearly, know their pace,

Still others keep faithful distance
Along a parallel path—
Trees are between us;
We can not see them,
But we hear their voices and know the sound
Of their footsteps in the leaves.

Teachers help us to discern
The merits of the road less traveled,
Help us to know others and ourselves
Give us confidence
That the path is straight, and good.

Lovers’ passion
Makes us skip, jump, run
Like lava, sweet and molten, then--
Cooling off, becoming hard and cold,
Side-stepping the rocks,
Seeking disparate trails.

Others, we encounter briefly,
A cool grotto – soothing to the touch,
Yet the water is rancid,
Tainted with strife;
We learn the course to avoid;

Siblings walk steps behind
For years in shade,
Forge divergent lines
Always returning, with changed gait
Or knowledge of the terrain;

Stretches of solitude:
With loneliness comes understanding
Of self and others,
And of the journey–
We learn in exile how to
Navigate streams
That seem too deep to traverse.

We run from the shadows of ourselves,
From hostile and wild things unknown,
From sorrow, anxiety, fear
We stumble, skin a knee,
Lick a finger, taste our own blood.

Storms pummel us, wind chaps our faces
Muddy spots and fallen trees block the way—
We detour great distances
From the intended path, building strength:
Our legs lean and strong from striving.

The clouds clear, the sun rises,
The air is sweet, white beach sand
Between our toes feels like heaven,
Balmy salt air enchants us
We linger, but the road is always changing,

Let us endeavor to hold the hands,
Of those who stumble,
To walk, to run, to jump, to crawl when we must--
Never stopping, always savoring,
All for the pleasure and the weight
Of the road under our feet,

So that our faces may be
Lined with the tracks of living.

Penicillium roqueforti Aka Stinkadelic Stealthbomber

2008-04-06T21:19:00.006-04:00

Song of Soulzon:
Stinky, psychedelic,
Controlled rancidity,
With lagoons
Of dark green fungus
Amid putty dunes
Of butter-cream.
Unpasteurized
Sheep’s milk
Hits the tongue:
The fat
Dissolves, melts—
Potent drug
Bombs the mouth,
Streams between
The teeth (which
Crunch the calcium),
Barraging the roof.
When swallowed,
The hot fungus
Attacks throat
Epidermal cells,
A battle ensues,
Sniper-fire, ricochet
Artillery, Grenades,
Schrapnel, buckshot;
Parachutes drop
Tiny armed soldiers to
Attack the jugular,
Rainbow of heat
Swirls, cells scream,
“Anaphylaxis,”
Break the glass,
Pull the alarm,
Fire trucks arrive--
No water--
Burn like a sea
Of jellyfish
Stinging the throat,
Eyes crossing, streaming tears,
Vertigo, tunnel vision.
Coughing for Chateauneuf du Pape,
While ewes laugh-mock:
Lacaune, Manech and Basco-Béarnaise,
Angry for spilt milk,
Their teroir invaded;
Inflict woolly revenge
Of a thousand solar flare peppercorns
Aimed at the throat
Of anyone who
Dares
To taste it.
All hailThe King of Combalou!

Three seats away

2008-03-31T23:34:00.005-04:00

Tonight at the Tune Inn,
A neighborhood dive bar,
I met a young man,
With afro-esque curly long hair,
Pulled back into a loose ponytail,
Who told me that he
And his "partner,"
Who shared a new baby:
A "surprise,"
Had an agreement,
Such that he, on his way home
From who-knows-where
On a Monday night,
Should stop at said Tune Inn,
Round the corner,
For a Miller Lite or three,
Whilst she stays home
With said love-child,
So that he could tell me
About his need for space,
And show me that he
Had no ring on his finger.
I said to him,
With saccharine voice,
That I hoped
That his wife-I-mean-partner
Was having a nice evening
Nursing their screaming
Bundle of joy
Whilst he talked to me.
"Oh, it's fine with her,"
He asserted, searching my eyes.
Unable to sufficiently mask judgment,
And disgust
Of a pansy responsibility-shirker,
I whispered more loudly
Than I should have
Behind a tattered, crumpled
Paper napkin
To Cousin Steve, beside me
At the bar's corner,
That Mr. 'Fro
Was a deadbeat dad -
Not that I know
Just what that means...
Subsequently,
Mr. 'Fro asked what was the problem.
I lied that the French fries
Were too greasy.
He-of-hairproduct-need
Later changed barstools
So that he was instead sitting
Three seats away.

Listerine "Vanilla Mint"

2008-03-31T23:11:00.007-04:00

When using,
"Less Intense, Equally Effective,
Vanilla Mint" mouthwash,
I hold over the sink,
Throat clenched,
Expectorating,
Mouth gaping open,
Salivary glands in overdrive,
Leaking, no, screaming
Clear juice from open vessels,
Into the drain below,
Gravity beckoning and time soothing
The ethanol fire.  

Snow Geese Migrating North

2008-03-24T16:19:00.002-04:00

Honking late at night,
High above city rooftops:
Geese herald in spring.

Birthday Weekend Cuisine

2008-02-10T22:27:00.000-05:00

I made curried carrot-apple soup. Also featured are porcini tortoni with heirloom tomato sauce. There are also Kingsbury truffles - best on the planet. The Pink Lady apples are from Eastern Market, and there is a photo of my birthday dinner.

Indian Rose - cocktail recipe

2008-02-10T02:06:00.000-05:00

Indian Rose

Cruzan Citrus Rum
Stoli Ohranj
Peach schnapps
Cranberry juice

Garnish with rose petals

Birthday Meal

2008-02-09T11:36:00.001-05:00

Yesterday, February 8th, was my birthday, and the most fabulous meal was prepared for me.

It started with wine and cheese. A fresh baguette was served with four spectacular cheeses. Two of the cheeses had truffles in them. One was Truffle Tremor, by Cypress Grove. I think that the other was Sottocenere with Truffles. One was a brie, and the other was an aged, stinky goat cheese. They were absolutely magnificent with Chateauneuf du Pape.

In-between the appetizer course and main course was a little palate-cleansing tapa: a tiny bowl of succulent chicken on top of green peas, saffron rice, all cooked together in sweet coconut milk. It was a sweet as a dessert.

Then came the second course: raw oysters, served at home! There were two types of Chesapeake Bay oysters, opened right over the sink and handed to me, barbarian-style. They were very good and were such a treat.

Finally: the main course consisted of the following melange. On a long, rectangular, white partitioned Japanese plate were placed, left to right-
1. two huge sea scallops, cooked in their own juices to perfection;
2. a large scallop half-shell, onto which was placed cooked and seasoned lump king crab meat mixed with a "filler" of home-grown mashed potatoes, on top of more sliced scallops; and
3. a huge, tender half-fillet of Chilean sea bass, sauteed in olive oil and fresh-chopped ginger.

The scallops were great, and the juice in which they were served was so tasty, I almost looked for bread to sop it up. The crab meat was actually served atop sliced scallops, and the combination was sea-complex and delicious. The sea bass flaked delicately with my fork and gleamed with richness. The meat was juicy, tender and slightly sweet...not fishy tasting, but lightly flavored and with a luxurious mouth-feel. It had just a hint of ginger.

By this time, I was much too full for dessert, so I just had a couple more sips of wine...and a tiny bite of organic milk chocolate when I got home (shhh!).

The miracle of this birthday dinner is that it was cooked for me in a friend's home. Truly special.

Wrong House

2008-02-05T21:58:00.000-05:00

Funny li'l story from tonight.

I was invited by my friend, Mike, to his house to have pizza and watch the returns from the primaries. After all, it's Super Tuesday. Forget Fat Tuesday! In DC, elections take all the spotlight.

I had never been to Mike's before. It's in my neighborhood, on Capitol Hill. Mike is a sweetheart and works on the Hill, like me. So, I quickly glanced at my Blackberry and saw the house number, "608."

Hooray! Remembering it was the basement apartment, and seeing a couple folks sitting and eating on the sofa, watching the tv, I did what any good party guest would do:

I pranced down the steps to the English basement, opened the door, and let myself in. "Hello!" I chirped. The two people in the house looked at my quizzically. "Hello," they said.

Suddenly, I got a strange sensation. There was no Mike in the room. Nor pizza. Nor party of primaries-watchers. I cocked my head to the side. "Um, is this Mike's place? I'm here for the party...?"

"Um, no." they said, in a tone that was half questioning if I'd lost my sanity, and half pitying me for the embarrassing gaffe. I felt my face redden with shame. "Oh, I'm so sorry...I think I've got the wrong address. So sorry!" I said, as I began to turn on my heel.

"That's okay," they said, still eyeing me.

"Good night!" I said with a cheerful smile, as I squeezed the door handle and made a quick exit before they could get a long enough look at me to recognize me later.

As I headed out into the damp-night-from-a-mild-day-in-February, I chuckled to myself. Before long, the correct house number was just a block away, and I could already hear the party revelers outside. And I was relieved! Liberal Hill staffers and animated politicos buzzed like gadflies and yelled comments toward the television. A senator was even present at the fete! Even more impressive was the selection of exquisite hand-made truffles, the flavors themed. Each chocolate truffle variety was named for one of the candidates! One had a fuschia outer shell with a strong chocolate center: The Clinton. Another was dark on the outside, with a white filling (certainly, The Obama). Still another was smooth milk chocolate on the outside, with a nutty inside: The Romney. Get it? Pure, chocolate brilliance. Only in DC, folks.

The experience earlier in the evening reminded me of a powerful life lesson: the seriousness of the gaffe is less important than the skill of making a graceful recovery and quick exit.

The Ole 96

2008-02-02T21:24:00.001-05:00

I am one frugal sistah.

Here's a typical example of a cheap night out for me. Instead of pay $7.50 for a cab to HR-57, and buy drinks there, like most normal DC residents, here are my choices:

I decide to wait on the good old 96 bus. The 96 runs from Capitol Hill, two blocks from my house, all the way to U Street. I had decided to then walk the 5 blocks from the bus drop-off to the jazz club.

Cheap Challenge #1: the bus came too early. The next bus is in 30 minutes. So now I must choose to wait half an hour, then walk the 5 blocks to the club. From now on, I'm hatin on the 96. It's over, 96.

I decide, instead, on Plan B, and begin to schlep toward Union Station. I walk the mile to Union Station; it's probably a good thing, considering the half chocolate bar I ate this afternoon. From there, I'll Metro to Dupont and walk 8 blocks to the club.

Cheap Challenge #2: there is a 13 minute wait for the next train. Hm. So here I am, blogging away the wait. Patience is a virtue.

Cheap Challenge #3: drink prices in the city. My resolution? Take full advantage of HR-57's "byob" policy. So I will bring my own bottle of wine.

Cheap Challenge #4: But wine's expensive. My solution? A gleaming, shiny new bottle of Charles Shaw cabernet! That's right, folks, Two Buck Chuck. A critic-beloved steal at only $2.99 a bottle!

Many challenges tonight- all met with a smile, an inaudible curse or two, and money left in my pocket. The trade-offs were time, and mileage on my sneakers. Fine by me.

Mission accomplished!

Metro, 2/1/08, 2:15am

2008-02-02T02:28:00.001-05:00

Who's on? A young 20-something married couple, a pack of young Spanish kids, a mid-30s black guy with dreds, and me.

The fluorescent lights glare as the announcer's surreal-friendly voice announces, "Next station is SMITHSONIAN!" As if hordes of teeming masses will jump off for the museums, or even for a stroll on the February tundra that is the National Mall.

I'm full of lamb chops and good company. And happy.

Sometimes, and to some people, "happy" is as fleeting as this Metro ride. I count myself as one of the lucky ones who gets to take the train 16 stops.

Good night, Washington.

Unfolding

2008-01-23T22:57:00.000-05:00

.
Clenched.

Its top a curled-up finial,

Striated with folded future fronds.

Vermillion, the color of a beating heart,

Or a rosy tongue out to catch a snowflake:

Fuzzy fiddlehead unfurls;

Connected by a lean, strong arched back,

Tentacles opposite one another,

Look like curling arms:

An eager caterpillar

Awaiting Mother Nature’s embrace.

So many changes ahead:

Red turning to green,

Worm-shaped fronds fill into

Full, lush, verdant, delicate leaves,

Ready for the Sun,

The wind,

The rain:

A fern leaf unfolds.

I Will Always Love You

2007-12-24T21:10:00.002-05:00

It's Christmas Eve 2007. My family just exchanged gifts- an annual Decenber 24th tradition. My sister, Bonnie gave Dad a Dolly Parton Greatest Hits album: one of the few things he requested. Bonnie just took my niece, Grace to take her evening bath. I dropped off gifts in my bedroom upstairs.

As I walked back down the stairs, I could hear Dolly Parton's "I Will Always Love You" drifting softly from the dimly-lit living room. I saw my parents, dancing slowly and very closely, to the music. They were oblivious to any other presence in the room and were completely focused on one another. It was devastatingly romantic.

After 35 years of marriage, children, and grandchildren, those two have been through many ups and downs together. For them to still be able to steal away a tiny moment amidst a busy Christmas Eve for one tremendously meaningful slow dance gives me hope for true love. I have just seen it.

Merry Christmas.

"The Lion, the Witch & the Wardrobe" by St. Mark's Players

2007-11-11T00:03:00.000-05:00

This weekend and next (November 16-18), the St. Mark's Players are performing a play that is based on the book, "The Lion, the Witch & the Wardrobe," by C.S. Lewis.

The play is performed in the worship space of St. Mark's Episcopal Church, and the Players are not affiliated with the church (although there are folks who overlap in both groups).

Producer Sherri Haddad and Director Joe Angel Babb have done a tremendous job in coordinating the cast and crew. Tonight was opening night, and the full house enjoyed the performance. Two-thirds of the cast are children. They spoke with English accents and effectively portrayed Lucy, Susan, Edmund and Peter, the children who walk through an old wardrobe into the magical and frozen land of Narnia. Other actors, young and old, protrayed fauns, centaurs and other magical creatures. Aslan and the snow queen were captivating as well.

One of the most charming aspects of the performance was its setting. The parish is 134 years old, and the red-bricked "Victorian eclectic" interior, with its painted iron columns, brick arches, wood floors and stained glass windows, is breathtaking. The play is acted, "in the round," with the stage in the center of the space and audience seated around it. The whole place has an intimate, ethereal feel. When the fauns are frolicking and centaurs emerge from the fog, it's magic.

Warmest congratulations to the St. Mark's Players on a great Opening Night!

A Troubled Texan and the Test of Tears

2007-11-10T00:46:00.000-05:00

This entry is a response to a recent note by Grits in the City on an email that we both received from a mutual friend, TxDem. She's been through at least four significant "life losses" this year, and just when she has seemed to hit the bottom, something else goes wrong in her life. It's like she has fallen into a well, and she's drowning, and the escape gets farther and farther away.

She is in despair and has been so for months. Many of her friends have walked away from the drama, intensity and sadness of it all. It has been sad, intensely dramatic at times, and frustrating to be near her. She acknowledges it, but she just doesn't have the energy to be able to do anything about it right now. She's low.

She sent a blind list of friends an email acknowledging her situation and earnestly thanking them for being friends. It was a big move, and it demonstrated great strength. My heart goes out to her.

In my life, there have been some significant relationships that I've let go because they got to a point where they just weren't good for me. And even though my friendship with TxDem lately has been more "give" than "take," I'm not keeping score because it feels good to be able to serve her. I believe in karma and Christ's example.

She's a special friend worth the sacrifice: passionate, gifted, intelligent and genuine. That combination is rare and cherished by me. Her friendship and loyalty are as steady as the promise of Bluebells in the spring.

Her email talked about the value of letting go. Letting go of baggage, of unhealthy relationships, of grudges, and even of friends who aren't meant for the long term.

I won't let TxDem go - because I know that, before long, one day she'll begin feeling much better. She'll be back to her old self and, as a phoenix rises from the ashes, she'll have a maturity and seasoning forged from fire.

Folks who have experienced and conquered this depth of grief are great folks to know, for they have a wisdom from experience, a reality of living that provides a rock-solid, sometimes sobering perspective. In some ways, I can identify with the depths she's in - but only in my rear-view mirror.

I know that she'll be okay. This is one instance in which I'll choose not to let go.

Dupont Circle Drag Race

2007-11-03T10:00:00.000-04:00

Last Tuesday night was the annual high heel race in Dupont Circle, and it was mighty impressive. There were Ladies with bright red poinsettias, a quartet of blow-up puffy ballerinas, the classic femmes fatales, a Senator on a toilet, a JFK-Jackie-Monroe threesome, a Washington Monument, and all manner of debauchery, glitz and silliness one could imagine.

And of course, there were the onlookers. "Just-Folks," like me, who came out by the thousands to witness the pageantry. This year, the weather was perfect: crisp as an autumn pear; dry; chilly; definitively autumn.

One thing that I love about DC, is that for all of the suit-stuffiness and pompous parading of Congressional pins and Executive-this-or-that business cards, some parts of the city aren't too politically correct to let their collective hot pink hair down and shimmy in a feather boa. I love the anti-culture of zaniness and liberalism, and the way that it sharply contrasts sometimes with the careful political strategizing that occurs during the day.

Long live the Dupont Circle Drag Race!

Autumn’s Hush

2007-10-16T22:49:00.000-04:00

Tonight, I walked home in silence. Autumn’s chill had quieted the crickets, muted the frogs, even people’s voices on patios. The brick sidewalks were a pattern of gray and muted browns, and only the occasional passing car broke the silence: the tires-on-pavement long exhale of a solitary car passing by.

Brittle, drying leaves rustled in a gentle crisp breeze. I imagined winds blowing across the blue and white glaciers of Alaska, making their way along the jet stream and all the way across to Washington, D.C., where they rosied my cheeks and whispered of Eskimos and polar bears. Vintage chandeliers glowed from within bubble glass bay windows.

Shadowy Halloween characters in urban combat attire, one block up, floated across dim intersections. Muted laughter from pumpkined wrought-iron stoops wafted along swirling currents of crackling leaves. Terriers, finished with their last walks of the day, scurried with dog-nails onto glossed wood floors of sparkling warm row-houses.

Somewhere in the distance, far off, sirens wailed: a gentle warning of potential danger. A phone conversation drifted from an open window. A twig snapped under someone's show, half a block away. All were muffled by wind on leaves, sneakers padding on bricks, and sleepy mums in pots.

The sounds of Capitol Hill, in many ways, have probably been the same for two hundred years. The neighborhood, with its autumnal hush, is timeless.

Hillary Curio

2007-10-10T16:56:00.000-04:00

Mezmerizing

The Woman Who Won't Hold Doors

2007-10-03T19:00:00.000-04:00

Just was passed by the Woman Who Won't Hold Doors For People at the Metro Center station.

After working on the Hill for 5 years, I've passed this woman in the halls and going up and down stairs many times. She's not pretty, but she has a distinctive look.

She's tall, bottle-blonde, wears ballerina flats or kitten heels, and she used to work in Cannon for a member from Florida. I'll never forget, one day, years ago, I was clearly behind her to enter one of the House office buildings, right behind her. I might have as well have been a shadow, though, because once inside, she let that door drop right behind her, with no thought to extending a basic courtesy.

Another time, she stepped on the back of my foot as we descended a Metro escalator.

DC's a tough city. At risk of sounding like a whining Southerner, I will say my opinion anyway. It's basic courtesy to hold the door for someone coming in right behind you. I also think people should wait their turn when walking somewhere and not clip folks' heels or shoulder through a crowd to get two feet ahead in a queue of five thousand.

<Sigh> I've ranted and feel better now. And a life of not holding doors goes on, for the Woman. I'm starting to learn not to expect it anymore.

MLK on Compassion

2007-10-02T23:02:00.000-04:00

"On the one hand we are called to play the good Samaritan on life's roadside; but that will be only an initial act. One day we must come to see that the whole Jericho road must be transformed so that men and women will not be constantly beaten and robbed as they make their journey on life's highway. True compassion is more than flinging a coin to a beggar..."

- The Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.,
from, " A Time to Break Silence." April 4th, 1967

Baggage

2007-10-02T21:39:00.000-04:00

Tonight I’m thinking about emotional baggage. The big, big question for me is this: what percentage of people who come from broken/ dysfunctional families actually learn something and improve from the experience? And what percentage of them remain broken, themselves?

The flip side is: do folks who've never dealt with a major relationship blow-out suffer from naivite? Are they unprepared, unseasoned, for inevitable rocks in the relationship road? Will they enter a relationship with unrealistic and unsustainable expectations?

For me, “dysfunctional” means that a relationship takes on an aspect that ultimately causes its demise: abuse, neglect, lying, cheating, disrespect, mean-spiritedness, extreme jealousy, rage, passive-aggression, volatility, etc.

It’s hard for me to understand, because I grew up as the product of a near-perfect family. My parents were Christians and brought me up in a moral, nurturing household. We had family meetings to decide matters and let each individual’s voice be heard. Communication was direct and open. My parents never had major marital problems and demonstrated effectively working through the minor issues. We say, “I love you” frequently. I am still close to my parents and sister, and nowadays, I call them not out of a sense of obligation, but because I miss them and truly want to know how their day is going.

Years ago, I became very close to a person from a broken family. When he was age 15, his father had an affair and told his mother (who had struggled with dysthymia for many years and was incapable of holding down a job) that he didn’t love her anymore. The guy was a latch-key kid, and no one in his family communicated. The divorce was bitter, and none of the children, now grown, have been capable of having a relationship with the other sex for any length of time.

After the initial romance period wore off, he treated me in the same way that his father must have treated his mother: extreme neglect. Avoidance. No communication. Just left. This was, of course, very difficult for me.

So, now I have tasted a significant and dysfunctional relationship, and I can metaphorically peek over to the other side of the fence.

My answer to my own question is that it must be a mixed bag. I am sure a certain percentage of people, probably a majority, who’ve experienced broken families are dysfunctional themselves. They didn’t learn from the experience and carry around subtle but immense emotional baggage that they just can’t shake.

I also know that there is probably a small percentage of people who come from broken homes but who do just fine. One example is the case of Cousin C. She lived in a home with a mean and controlling father and passive mother. She does suffer from a serious inferiority complex, but she has remained happily married to one wonderful man for 20+ years. Success!

On the other hand, there are plenty of folks who grow up in a perfect social environment who somehow come under unhealthy influences and become dysfunctional themselves. Maybe none of the scenarios are correlated with one’s past or upbringing. But I’d wager to guess that they are.

Looking in my rear-view mirror, my hypothesis is that if you grow up in a dysfunctional family: fighting, non-communicating parents or close extended family, then you’re going to be carrying around some baggage so heavy that it starts to show after a while, despite attempts to hide it.

I stand at a crossroads. I’ve been through a heavy, pretty dysfunctional relationship, and it hurt like the dickens. Still hurts to think about giving love and trust to someone who trampled on them, repeatedly. As a result, I know that a major issue going forward is to again cultivate the ability to trust someone the way I need to in order to fully enjoy a relationship with a man. For me, trust must be earned rather than instantly granted. Anyone who rushes that process for me should prepare to see my back as I run away.

What do you think? Do previous dysfunctional relationships and/or broken homes predict future dysfunction?

Elvis Impersonators

2007-09-25T00:19:00.000-04:00

Sighted at the Rusty Rudder on Saturday night, September 23rd, 2007. I'll let the video tell the story.

Dating and the Wild World Wide Web

2007-09-24T23:56:00.000-04:00

I need to share a dynamic duo of messages from a guy who I met on an internet dating site. I promise that I did not make this up. We "met" online and corresponded a couple times. We set a time to meet in person. My friend spied a wedding ring in one of his profile photos, and I asked him how far along he was in his divorce proceedings. Suddenly, he canceled, saying he wasn't ready to date anyone. I sent back a brief, conciliatory note, saying to take his time. However, I did ask him why was he on an internet dating site, and that I wasn't expecting him to answer.

And then.....[drumroll, please!]......I received the following two messages:

"From: H--------3

Date Received: September 13

Subject: I have a problem lying

Hi [name removed],

I need to tell you the truth. My wife and I separated on August 16, 2007. I told her that we needed to work on our underlying issues. I told her that I would go to therapy once a week to deal with my lying regarding flirting with other women, pot smoking, and cigarette smoking. I just can't help lying.

On that day, I told my wife that I would not date or see other people and I hoped she would not do the same. The separation was an investment so that in the long run our relationship would be better. The next day, after she moved, I started writing my profile for match.com.

The Friday before we made our date, my wife called and asked me if I wanted to still adhere to our guideline of not dating anyone. Right away, I told her "yes." I told her that I wasn't dating anyone and I didn't want her to date anyone either. She had no idea about me being on match.com.

I want to date girls and have my wife on the side. At a very early age, I learned what women want to hear and I tell them it. I have no respect for women. My therapist says it is because I have never developed an authentic self.

You deserve better than me. You deserve someone who is honest and respects you/women. Be relieved that you never met me.

The reason I emailed you and cancelled our date was because my wife's friend saw my picture on match.com. I got caught and had to back out quick. My therapist is so disgusted he can't even speak."

The quick followup message:

"From: H-------3

Date Received: September 13

Subject: oops one last thing

I forgot one last truth.

The first two pictures of my profile were taken on May 25, 2007 by my wife. We were in Antigua celebrating our 5 year anniversary by renewing our vows!

I am such a liar."

He works in the Cannon Building (I know for whom), and I accidentally ran into him on the street the next day. Either he didn't see me or pretended not to see me.

The Homeless at West End Library

2007-08-14T19:49:00.001-04:00

A small colony of homeless people camp on the front porch at West End Library. I happened upon them this afternoon when attempting to return an overdue book.

Unable to get away from the office during the day, and out of the continental US this weekend, I really needed to return "Sophie's Choice." (Fabu tome!)

The poor library even wrote me a nice note stating that overdue fines were accruing daily, and that I really must give it back.

I Metro'd across town from Capitol Hill in the early evening to West End. Lovely neighborhood. The Asian dude was playing his Asian instrument at the mouth of Foggy Bottom station. I headed to the library.

As I approached the building, I saw a motley krewe of 5 or 6 scruffy individuals (being generous, here!) loitering under the front awning. No one stood. All were in various poses of repose: lounging, slumped, propped-on-elbows, lying on the slates.

All were silently eyeing me.

Someone raised voice and said, "Library's closed for the day! No book drop." At that same moment, I spied the book drop, taped over, layer upon layer so that, clearly, I wouldn't be dropping off "Sophie's Choice" that day.

All I could mutter was a stunned parrot-like, "No book drop. ...oh-kay," turn on my heel, and walk away, defeated.

The dilemma remains. And book fines continue to accrue daily! Trapped like a rat.

However, the much larger dilemma is regarding the problem of homelessness in our city. The group So Others Might Eat reports that 19.1% of DC residents live at or below the poverty line -- 104,000 people. The same fact sheet states that 62% of the homeless population have a high school diploma, and 44% are employed. So let's not demean or stereotype.

Poverty, incredibly expensive housing and high cost of living make for a large homeless population, wanting of dignity and hope.

I think it is our duty as American citizens to act so that this problem is ameliorated. We should each, in some way, reach out to help our fellow man. Dropping a nickel in the guy's cup isn't enough. There should be a greater concerted effort to help our homeless population, our nation's vulnerable. That costs money - charity or taxpayer dollars -- money that many libertarians and fiscal conservatives would rather not spend. So here we sit!

See ya tomorrow at West End, fellas.

The Power of Blogging

2007-08-14T19:21:00.001-04:00

To a newcomer, blogging may seem to be an innocuous practice. Newbies should beware of a keen bloodhound called Google.

In a MSN news article online today, I read that individuals' care-free web personas, scrutinized by potential employers, were hurting their prospects of getting a new job. The article discussed Facebook party photos ending up in the wrong hands and the cropping up of new companies, comprised undoubtedly of lawyers, to destroy slander and to protect "one's reputation."

Hm, this mouse smells a lucrative new trend in mitigation!

New bloggers: achtung, babies. After only one week of blogging away, commenting freely, reviewing restaurants and Twittering, I did a casual search of my own blog name. Many links - nay, pages and pages of links - emerged. Every comment, every semicolon had been found by Google. Sniffed out like a bloodhound. Comments to comments were even found. It was amazing.

Washingtonienne was canned for blogging about trysts at the office. I think most people in sensitive positions, gainfully employed, would not choose to do that. But consider more subtle biases and repercussions of off-the-wall comments or mean notes. Consider how a potential employer - or client- would view any of it. Or all of it. Anonymity on the web is virtually non-existent.

Now, if everyone went around censoring their blogs to oblivion, it would be a pretty dull blogosphere. So, please don't, for our entertainment's sake.

Just be careful.

Beach Sceen

2007-08-11T15:36:00.001-04:00

Ominous clouds greeted Ms.H. and I as we trekked along the Lewes Beach sand. Not rain clouds- just layer upon layer of silver, dove, steel, mercury, and mist grays. The sun was totally obscured. Brave seafarers huddled close, in chairs, wrapped tightly in their beach towels.

The wind whipped around Cape Henlopen, and we saw the Cape May Ferry roll toward us.

Not the best day for a coastal excursion, but we were grateful to be miles and miles away from the oppression of D.C. for the weekend.

We set out my 300 year old light green sheet on the mocha sand. Seriously, I've had the blanket since I was a little girl. It's softened with age and perfect as an outdoor sit-upon.

After an hour, huddled in the fetal position, trying to keep warm, the clouds blew away.

Like the opening scene of a play, the cloud curtain opened to blue skies, singing gulls, lapping waves, and the sweetest sea breeze. "Yeah, it turned out to be beautiful!" declared Ms.H.

Thank goodness Mother Nature changed her mind.

Why Do People Blog?

2007-08-09T09:08:00.001-04:00

This morning, Mama asked me, "Why do you think people blog?" Leave it to mamas to ask simple questions that confound us- or at least make us consider what we're doing.

I've just started blogging. My mom and dad were English teachers. In fact, Daddy's a published poet. I opted to rebel and pursued a career in the biological sciences, but the creative urge and wordsmithiness pulse strongly through my veins.

Recently, I wrote a few notes on said blog and decided to give 'em The Parent Test. Here's Mama's reaction:

"Morning,

I read EVERY word of your blog. Why do people blog, anyway? Just wondering. You are such a great writer. Words (rich ones) just seem to roll out of you in the perfect way.

I'm finishing up my coffee and just about out the door for a 30 minute walk. One parting note: Parents job: to worry about their kids. Love you bunches.

Mom"

The comment about worrying about kids, I'm sure, is in response to the "Day's End" note. I want everyone in the blosphere to know that I have awesome parents!

Getting back to the "why people blog" question. I am sure that this topic, blogging about blogging, is cliche. However, I'll slip the New Blogger card out of my left sleeve and play it.

I think some people blog because they are extroverts. They crave contact with the Outside World. They've got stuff to say and need to share it. Or just spew it out.

Others blog because they are lonely. There is no one close enough to them whom they can call and convey their thoughts-that-become-blogs, as often as the thoughts surface. [Well, maybe District Sniffer's pooch is an exception; GoGo looks like a good listener.] So they blog.

Still others are good writers, and they want to display their talents in hopes of getting "discovered."

Others are okay writers, but they have great insight about politics, news or whatever. They're not good enough or fast enough to be hired as reporters or journalists, and/or they have too much of a creative fluorish in their writing, so they just blog-it-out as a hobby.

Others use their blog as a semi-public diary, like LJ of District Belle.

Still others, such as my scientist friends, use theirs to save and share experimental protocols. Others publish their favorite recipes.

Me? I think it's a mix of the above.

So, Mama: there are many answers to your simple question. Love you.

P.S. Here's a little video of Mama, Daddy, sis, baby Grace and me a few years ago, for your viewing pleasure. Summer supper down in Georgia. M-m-m!

Twilight

2007-08-08T20:13:00.001-04:00

It's that time of the day again: 8ish, August, in Washington, DC. The sun is down, a warm breeze floats between the buildings, and the lighting's just right.

It's soft, cool, hushed: soothing to the scorched monuments.

It's a sweet, blue-gray. Federal blue.

Yellow lights peek out of grand hotel windows like anxious lovers. Traffic and people slow down. Headlights on the street are gaily lined up like birthday candles. Or holiday lights.

Twilight's glow is nature's candlelight.

2 Alarm Fire on Penn

2007-08-08T09:57:00.000-04:00

I was awakened at 5:45 this morning by the wailing of sirens. Often, I hear a passing siren or two during the night but quickly disregard it and fall fast asleep. However, I heard one rumbling truck engine, sirens blaring, pass by under my window at 4th and Pennsylvania, Southeast. Then I heard another truck, with its sirens. I heard backing up, voices on the street, pressure brakes chirping and whistling.

Clearly, something was emergent down below.

The siren-after-siren phenomenon brought me eerily back to spring 2007, when Eastern Market burned. It was the same "this is a real emergency" kind of auditory experience.

My heart stirring with nervousness, I pulled my curtains aside and peeked out of my third floor window. The street corner below was red with flickering lights. I dressed quickly, grabbed my keys, and stepped into the heat and humidity outside.

I saw three or four fire trucks, surrounding the corner of 4th and Penn, my corner. I worried that the church was on fire, and I faintly smelled smoke. I didn't see fire anywhere nearby and felt relieved.

I have a soft place in my heart for firefighters. Especially since just the week before, I got an email notifying me of the new Houston, Texas, firefighters' fundraiser calendar. Love 'em! The truck nearest me had five - and two of them were standing in the street (that was blocked off), only steps from my front door. I approached them.

"Two alarm fire," one of them said, his face furrowed and leathery for his age. "What does that mean," I asked. "Oh, it just means that if one group of fighters is at the scene, and they are having trouble containing the fire, they call in a second Unit. Then, if those two Units still have trouble, they call in a third Unit, etc." "Oh, okay," I nodded.

We shot the breeze for a few more minutes as twilight brightened into an early morning glow of gentle blue skies and smothering humidity. I thought the fire fighters looked handsome in their heavy suits, oxygen tanks on their backs like scuba divers. We talked about Eastern Market, about local bars, working on the Hill, family roots.

And suddenly, the truck began pulling away. I waved as they faded toward the end of the block.

I have such tremendous respect for those guys.

On Walking Out Gracefully

2007-08-07T21:27:00.000-04:00

We lost an employee in my office today.

Not one to be spreading rumors, I'll admit that I don't know whether she left because she'd found a better position or because she'd been axed. The mind does funny tricks, though. She left without telling anyone she was going. Why? Was she fired? Did she really not make friendly enough connections over the past 9 months of working with us that she truly didn't tell a single soul in our office that she was leaving? It's mighty strange.

Anyway, here is the sequence of events as I recalled them. My boss appeared to be extremely antsy and agitated today (not the best day to advocate for a raise - the subconscious is powerful, folks). I was in his office telling him today was the absolute deadline for him to renew my student loan benefit or I wouldn’t receive a payment next month. I lingered around his desk, hoping my silence and hopeful aura would spur him to say something – anything – like, “don’t worry, I’ll advocate for something good for you.” No. Instead he said, agitatedly, “I’ve got to talk to these people.”

As I turned to leave his office, I overheard him say, to Human Resources on the phone, “I just took an ‘Administrative Action.’”

What does it mean to take an “Administrative Action?” Whatever that meant, it sounded ominous to me. Who got canned???

Minutes later, the woman who later left, for good, could be overheard shuffling things on her desk. My paranoia-sharpened hearing detected the sounds of a desk being packed up, permanently. You could cut the tension in the air with a knife. I listened: shuffling, packing, shuffling, papers-rustling, packing. Wow – could she really be leaving? Is she the one? What happened?

There were no goodbyes. She just walked out of the office. Calmly, collectedly took her purse and left.

My boss went into the room where our office servers are located – several times. Great; he’s killing her profile one nanosecond after her heels click out the door! Minutes later, he walked back to her desk, sat down and started going through her computer.

He said, pointing towards himself, “Guys, you’re looking at the new [her former position]!” No one said a word, not one single word, but my gosh the tension was unbearable. No one dared speak.

I heard him mumble something about losers as he punched on the keyboard. And that was that.

Working on the Hill is **TENSE,** folks! Definitely not for the weak of mettle!

The Glass Tells All

2007-08-03T15:09:00.000-04:00

My friend in the office told me a funny story that I want to share. His friend, Jane Doe, is out at a bar and meets a good looking guy who apparently had a glass eye.

Jane didn't realize he had a glass eye at first. However, as the drinks began to add up, apparently one eye became bloodshot and the other did not. That's how she found out.

Hm...drinking as a litmus test for glass eyes. Highly effective!

Day's End

2007-08-02T22:05:00.000-04:00

Poets and songbirds have often mused about feelings at the end of the day. As I walk home, I think about the song, "Wee Small Hours of the Morning," or about a poem, "At the End of the Day," by one of my favorite modern-day poets, Gregory Djanikian.

At the end of the work-day, especially if it has been a long day, I have a strong urge to call someone and verbally unwind: talk about personal things. Someone close to me.

Often I'll call my parents or sister; I've just about exhausted my short list of far-away friends whom I can call under the guise of "having a moment to catch up." I think my parents worry if I call too much... they also worry if I call too infrequently.

Anyway, a warm August breeze stirs my hair. The walking is pleasant. Two couples holding hands pass me on the brick sidewalk. I've worked hard today and am tired.

For me, that special time of calico feelings isn't the "wee small hours of the morning." It's now.

Losing Weight

2007-08-02T00:02:00.000-04:00

Here is a tip for all the randos out there in blog land: be very careful how you comment to your friends (and enemies!) who are trying to lose weight.

I am not a fat person. I am within the healthy weight range, according to Weight Watchers. It's just that I've gained, ahem, a few pounds in the past months and want to return to my svelte self.

On several occasions, I've encountered the following sequence. A friend will invite me out for wine, Lemoncello, cheese, chocolate, insert your favorite booty-expanding treat here. I'll thank them, suggest a lighter-fare option, and, as a side note, say that I joined Weight Watchers to regain healthier eating habits.

Undoubtedly, the response is, "Oh, you're not fat! You shouldn't be on Weight Watchers/ trying to lose weight." Or, "Oh, I'm surprised."

The effect of this seemingly innocuous comment is me feeling like I need to provide a reason why I'm trying to lose some weight. I just don't want to go there. It's a complex answer that takes me to some dark places, emotionally. Why should a healthy diet be something one needs to explain? Sheesh.

So, friends, the next time you talk with someone, and they tell you for whatever reason, that they are trying to lose weight, for chrissakes, say something POSITIVE. Like, "Good for you!" Or "Wow, that's great! That's inspiring." Or "Cool - let's eat melon." But be very careful not to tread into verbal negativity.

Hungry people are already cranky. No need to exacerbate the situation.

Facial Fake Tanning

2007-08-01T23:01:00.000-04:00

During the summers, I enjoy tanning. Now before anyone yells at me regarding the risks of tanning, please know that I understand. It is a risk that I take.

I know that tanning will result in an increased risk of skin cancer later on, but more than that, it can lead to wrinkling and (gasp!) sagging of skin. Let the rest of me sag, but not my face!

For this reason, I am careful not to allow one single beam of ultraviolet touch my face. This creates a quandry in the summer time, because I end up with a pale face and gorgeous bronzed skin. I could always brush bronzing powder on my face to even things out -- and I do -- but what about the random overnight occasion? I'd hate for anyone to see me like this.

So my strategy is to use "fake tan" on my face (and everywhere else) to even it all out. I am proud to announce that after 1.5 months, my face has caught up with the rest of me!

Scrambled Eggs

2007-07-23T18:45:00.000-04:00

One of my housemates, a young guy who appears to have rarely used a stovetop in his life, attempted to scramble eggs recently.

He used:
(1) high heat, all the way!
(2) no oil or butter.

I walked in on him, stirring at the raw egg layer on top of the flaming skillet, while the layer of eggs on bottom turned dark brown and began emitting a sulfurous odor.

After a moment of exchanged pleasantries, I gently suggested that he consider lowering the heat a tad. Later on, I saw him at the sink, scraping at the skillet with a dull knife to dislodge the black, encrusted egg. To top it all off, this morning I found the "clean" skillet, (still with baked-on, caked-on egg on bottom), set atop the microwave with other clean dishes, to dry.

Poor boy!