Monday, June 22, 2009
Yes, I Ride the Red Line. Yes, I Am Fine.
I did ride the Red Line into DC this afternoon. I am STILL in DC, and trying to figure out how to get home. Red Line service in NE DC area is suspended indefinitely.
More Fragments...
IN MEMORY OF MY HYUNDAI
In case you are wondering, I’m still dealing with the aftermath of the wreckage of my SUV. There is a small issue with transferring the title to the salvage yard. We should be able to fix that. The tow truck driver’s insurance company now says he might have insurance after all. How can they not know? I‘m not sure what it all means, other than I am guessing it will somehow cost me time or money or both. In the meantime, the only thing that really sucks about not having a car is grocery shopping. I‘m out of orange juice! And beer. Oh, the horror…
JOB
There is no news to report here, and the only reason I don’t write more about it in my blog is because it would as repetitive as a summer weather forecast in Florida. Let’s see, hot and humid with a chance of thunderstorms? Am I right? Am I right?? Rest assured that, when there is news on the job front, I will crow like a fat rooster to everyone I know. In the meantime, I’m still looking, and still hoping.
QUOTE
You may recall, I am someone who has a fondness for quotes. I still wonder why it is that other people sometimes have a much better way of saying what I am thinking?
Thanks to my parents for a very thoughtful gesture. They sent me a copy of "An Army at Dawn" - part of the Liberation Trilogy written by Rick Atkinson (Link HERE). I became quasi-depressed when I finished "The Day of Battle" (what was I going to read now?), and the timely delivery of the other book ensured that I will have good reading for at least another week or two. Atkinson writes with the kind of historical detail that I love. This morning I read a quote that seemed appropriate and I thought I would share:
It is good medicine to one’s self esteem to meet with serious setbacks at timely intervals.
~British Lieutenant General Kenneth A. N. Anderson, during the Allied campaign in North Africa in 1942
THE PENTAGON (HISTORY LESSON)
The above-mentioned book also made me think about the Pentagon (since, obviously, it discusses some of the goings-on there). The Pentagon, in case you were wondering, is the world's largest office building in terms of floor area. There are 17.5 miles of corridors inside. The sheer size of the building caused staffers during World War II to joke that a Western Union telegram boy had entered on Friday and emerged on Monday as a lieutenant colonel.
The reason it is such a sprawling mass is simple when you think about it; a tall building requires lots of steel girders for support. Steel was too valuable for other needs during World War II when the structure was completed. By keeping it to five stories, the planners and builders minimized the amount of steel necessary. It was constructed with concrete ramps inside instead of elevators. Elevators require steel.
Here is something I never knew; the Pentagon was necessary because the Navy Department had outgrown its facilities to the extent that they were building temporary structures everywhere!
Look carefully at the above photo (courtesy of the US Navy Archives - ca. 1943-44). In the left center distance is the Lincoln Memorial! The buildings in the foreground of this image were, literally, on the lawn of the Washington Monument. The buildings to the left of the reflecting pool occupied the area which is now home to West Potomac Park - the World War I Memorial and the Korean War Memorial. The buildings to the right of the pool cover the area that now contains Constitution Gardens Lake and the Vietnam Veterans Memorial. When this photo was taken, the reflecting pool was still relatively new. Foot bridges across the pool connected the groups of buildings on both sides.
Below - the area as it appears now - from a different angle, and directly overhead:
View Larger Map
When you see how much these buildings had gunked up the National Mall, it makes you appreciate the fact that they packed everything up and moved it across the Potomac to the Pentagon.
FASCINATING
While wandering on M Street in Georgetown, I began hearing a familiar tune played in a very unfamiliar way. I wasn’t sure what to think, but it kept getting louder as I walked. Finally, I recognized the song, and found the source – a street musician standing on a corner playing Led Zeppelin’s Stairway to Heaven. On violin.
FASCINATING, PART II
On Sunday, my trusty bike and I rode the Metro into DC, and spent a few hours cruising around. Since I am still a stranger in this city, and since I still harbor a somewhat irrational fear of getting lost at any moment (although I have taken to venturing out occasionally with no map in my pocket), I continue to notice electrical outlets in public places in case I have a dire need to charge my cell phone. I have already used the previously mentioned outlet in Dupont Circle twice (Link HERE). I was riding by the Verizon Center – the big arena where the Wizards (NBA), Mystics (WNBA) and Capitals (NHL) play, and where major concerts and other events are held. I noticed an older woman, obviously homeless, tucked into a recess formed by a supporting brick column on the front of the building. She had some kind of wheeled cart containing her belongings, and she had turned a newspaper vending rack on its side to use as a chair – with her back leaning against the column. She looked as comfortable as if she were in an office chair, and – here’s the funny part – propped on the cart in front of her, she had an old word processor plugged in to an electrical outlet, and was busy typing away.
At first, all I did was make a mental note of yet another electrical outlet in case of emergency, but, after riding by, I immediately had two regrets. 1) I wished I had stopped to take her picture, if it didn’t embarrass her. It was just such a bizarre sight. She looked like she could have been Andy Rooney’s hard luck younger sister. 2) I wish I had stopped to ask what she was writing. It may have been her memoirs, or a letter to the editor of the Post, or the next great American novel. Or maybe she was just typing “All Work and No Play Make Jane a Dull Girl” over and over. Now I really want to know…
THE BEST OFFICE-MATES
Until today, my last visit to one of my offices (Starbucks) – this time at 2101 P Street – was on Friday. I got a late start on the day because I had to wait at my hovel for an insurance guy to show up with some papers. After getting my coffee, I wandered upstairs and was immediately distressed at the sight of 25 or 30 people sitting there. That many people in a small area always mean a racket that precludes any hope of concentrating and being productive. I continued upstairs to the only table available, and tried to decide if I should even bother unpacking my laptop. Then I noticed something strange.
There wasn’t as much noise as I had anticipated, given the fact that they all appeared to know each other. It was clearly some kind of social gathering, but unusual somehow. I looked more closely. They were all deaf, and signing to each other. I quickly forgave them for the intrusion on my office space, and was actually glad that, by occupying so many chairs, they kept other potentially noisier people from sitting there. As it turns out, I was able to be very productive, once I got accustomed to all the wild gesturing.
Afterthought: Washington DC is home to Gallaudet University (Link HERE) which, according to their website, “leads the world in liberal arts education, career development, and outstanding graduate programs for deaf and hard of hearing undergraduate students.”
In case you are wondering, I’m still dealing with the aftermath of the wreckage of my SUV. There is a small issue with transferring the title to the salvage yard. We should be able to fix that. The tow truck driver’s insurance company now says he might have insurance after all. How can they not know? I‘m not sure what it all means, other than I am guessing it will somehow cost me time or money or both. In the meantime, the only thing that really sucks about not having a car is grocery shopping. I‘m out of orange juice! And beer. Oh, the horror…
JOB
There is no news to report here, and the only reason I don’t write more about it in my blog is because it would as repetitive as a summer weather forecast in Florida. Let’s see, hot and humid with a chance of thunderstorms? Am I right? Am I right?? Rest assured that, when there is news on the job front, I will crow like a fat rooster to everyone I know. In the meantime, I’m still looking, and still hoping.
QUOTE
You may recall, I am someone who has a fondness for quotes. I still wonder why it is that other people sometimes have a much better way of saying what I am thinking?
Thanks to my parents for a very thoughtful gesture. They sent me a copy of "An Army at Dawn" - part of the Liberation Trilogy written by Rick Atkinson (Link HERE). I became quasi-depressed when I finished "The Day of Battle" (what was I going to read now?), and the timely delivery of the other book ensured that I will have good reading for at least another week or two. Atkinson writes with the kind of historical detail that I love. This morning I read a quote that seemed appropriate and I thought I would share:
It is good medicine to one’s self esteem to meet with serious setbacks at timely intervals.
~British Lieutenant General Kenneth A. N. Anderson, during the Allied campaign in North Africa in 1942
THE PENTAGON (HISTORY LESSON)
The above-mentioned book also made me think about the Pentagon (since, obviously, it discusses some of the goings-on there). The Pentagon, in case you were wondering, is the world's largest office building in terms of floor area. There are 17.5 miles of corridors inside. The sheer size of the building caused staffers during World War II to joke that a Western Union telegram boy had entered on Friday and emerged on Monday as a lieutenant colonel.
The reason it is such a sprawling mass is simple when you think about it; a tall building requires lots of steel girders for support. Steel was too valuable for other needs during World War II when the structure was completed. By keeping it to five stories, the planners and builders minimized the amount of steel necessary. It was constructed with concrete ramps inside instead of elevators. Elevators require steel.
Here is something I never knew; the Pentagon was necessary because the Navy Department had outgrown its facilities to the extent that they were building temporary structures everywhere!
Look carefully at the above photo (courtesy of the US Navy Archives - ca. 1943-44). In the left center distance is the Lincoln Memorial! The buildings in the foreground of this image were, literally, on the lawn of the Washington Monument. The buildings to the left of the reflecting pool occupied the area which is now home to West Potomac Park - the World War I Memorial and the Korean War Memorial. The buildings to the right of the pool cover the area that now contains Constitution Gardens Lake and the Vietnam Veterans Memorial. When this photo was taken, the reflecting pool was still relatively new. Foot bridges across the pool connected the groups of buildings on both sides.
Below - the area as it appears now - from a different angle, and directly overhead:
View Larger Map
When you see how much these buildings had gunked up the National Mall, it makes you appreciate the fact that they packed everything up and moved it across the Potomac to the Pentagon.
FASCINATING
While wandering on M Street in Georgetown, I began hearing a familiar tune played in a very unfamiliar way. I wasn’t sure what to think, but it kept getting louder as I walked. Finally, I recognized the song, and found the source – a street musician standing on a corner playing Led Zeppelin’s Stairway to Heaven. On violin.
FASCINATING, PART II
On Sunday, my trusty bike and I rode the Metro into DC, and spent a few hours cruising around. Since I am still a stranger in this city, and since I still harbor a somewhat irrational fear of getting lost at any moment (although I have taken to venturing out occasionally with no map in my pocket), I continue to notice electrical outlets in public places in case I have a dire need to charge my cell phone. I have already used the previously mentioned outlet in Dupont Circle twice (Link HERE). I was riding by the Verizon Center – the big arena where the Wizards (NBA), Mystics (WNBA) and Capitals (NHL) play, and where major concerts and other events are held. I noticed an older woman, obviously homeless, tucked into a recess formed by a supporting brick column on the front of the building. She had some kind of wheeled cart containing her belongings, and she had turned a newspaper vending rack on its side to use as a chair – with her back leaning against the column. She looked as comfortable as if she were in an office chair, and – here’s the funny part – propped on the cart in front of her, she had an old word processor plugged in to an electrical outlet, and was busy typing away.
At first, all I did was make a mental note of yet another electrical outlet in case of emergency, but, after riding by, I immediately had two regrets. 1) I wished I had stopped to take her picture, if it didn’t embarrass her. It was just such a bizarre sight. She looked like she could have been Andy Rooney’s hard luck younger sister. 2) I wish I had stopped to ask what she was writing. It may have been her memoirs, or a letter to the editor of the Post, or the next great American novel. Or maybe she was just typing “All Work and No Play Make Jane a Dull Girl” over and over. Now I really want to know…
THE BEST OFFICE-MATES
Until today, my last visit to one of my offices (Starbucks) – this time at 2101 P Street – was on Friday. I got a late start on the day because I had to wait at my hovel for an insurance guy to show up with some papers. After getting my coffee, I wandered upstairs and was immediately distressed at the sight of 25 or 30 people sitting there. That many people in a small area always mean a racket that precludes any hope of concentrating and being productive. I continued upstairs to the only table available, and tried to decide if I should even bother unpacking my laptop. Then I noticed something strange.
There wasn’t as much noise as I had anticipated, given the fact that they all appeared to know each other. It was clearly some kind of social gathering, but unusual somehow. I looked more closely. They were all deaf, and signing to each other. I quickly forgave them for the intrusion on my office space, and was actually glad that, by occupying so many chairs, they kept other potentially noisier people from sitting there. As it turns out, I was able to be very productive, once I got accustomed to all the wild gesturing.
Afterthought: Washington DC is home to Gallaudet University (Link HERE) which, according to their website, “leads the world in liberal arts education, career development, and outstanding graduate programs for deaf and hard of hearing undergraduate students.”
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Fragments...
During the last week I've had a hard time delivering product to my faithful readers! For that, I apologize. I think the wrecked car debacle may be mostly behind me, so it is time to move along.
At this point, I should explain that I carry a small notebook everywhere I go. I jot down thoughts and ideas as they come to me. I even keep track of places I find or happy hours that are particularly good deals. To catch you up on the last week or so, I figured I would offer these fragments from my notebook.
CHERYL
After a long evening of exploring downtown DC on foot, I stopped to get a cold beer at an old place called Harry’s. I stood at the bar next to a girl who introduced herself as Cheryl, and who seemed a little too loud and a tad too intoxicated. I thought it might be time for the bartender to cut her off or for her friends to take her home.
Then I began hearing fragments of their conversation, and, when I appeared interested, she turned to me. There were a few moments of the usual small talk, and then the bartender placed a fresh cocktail in front of her, courtesy of one of her companions. She was unsteady on her feet, and, as she pulled the drink toward her, a bit splashed on the bar.
Looking at me, she grinned, lifted her glass in a familiar gesture and chirped, "It’s my twenty-fifth birthday!"
Now it all made sense. Chuckling, I tapped my glass against hers and, feigning concern, said, "I hope you make it to twenty-six."
She sipped and put the glass down in front of her. I could tell, at that moment, a thought had entered her mind, one that was familiar but nonetheless unpleasant. I watched as the expression on her face changed, and a haze descended over her eyes, giving the impression that she was looking at something far away, but seeing nothing.
Without facing me, she leaned and whispered, "My mom died on my birthday."
I don't think her hard-drinking friends had any idea. I guess she just wanted to tell… someone. I was the lucky one. I wondered how long ago it had been, and thought how awful that must be. Before I could say anything, her eyes brightened again. The silence hadn’t been long enough to be awkward.
"Aren’t you going to wish me happy birthday?" Loud, drunk Cheryl had returned just as suddenly as she had departed.
"Happy birthday," I said as I smiled and nodded at her, and took a big swig from my mug.
One of her friends grabbed her and pulled her away down the bar. Someone had bought a round of shots.
Left alone, I drank a silent toast. Birthdays are sometimes bittersweet, Cheryl. Yours will always be so.
Cheers.
THE BRICKSKELLER
I go to the Brickskeller (Link HERE) about once a week. I've spoken of it often to friends. They have 1000 different kinds of beer. They're officially recognized by the Guinness Book as holding the World Record for most beers available in a single retail location. The beer menu reads like a small novel. I love it. (Seriously, the beer list is HERE).
Most of the people who go there are beer snobs like me, but, occasionally, "normal" people arrive at the downstairs bar, no doubt by accident, and say things that seem silly to me.
One guy, with no idea what to order, told the bartender, "I'd like a beer with character..." For some reason, I immediately conjured up a mental image of them delivering a beer and Jack Nicholson. Sometimes when I'm by myself, I giggle. I'm sure people wonder why.
Once, a guy walked up and ordered a Coors Light. The look on the server's face was priceless. Her thoughts were as clear as if she had a scrolling sign on her forehead. With all this good beer here, you're ordering THAT? She looked at me in mock confusion. I grinned and shrugged. It was awesome. She brought him a Coors Light. He sat at the end of the bar, in the corner, drank it quickly, and left.
Later, a new arrival walked up to the same server saying, "Can I have a water and a Miller Lite?"
I said to her, knowing that he could hear, "Isn't that redundant?"
This server likes me. I can tell. She seems just a bit too happy to see me. Ahh, the life of a beer snob.
HISTORIC FLOORBOARDS
Inside the historic Georgetown Inn (Link HERE) is a place called the Daily Grill. During the course of my wanderings, I stopped there once for a happy hour glass of wine and one of their delicious $3.95 appetizers. The hotel has been in that building for forty years. I have no idea how old the building may be.
As I always do when I'm exploring, I had my backpack with me. I rarely venture out unless I have my camera, my notebook and my raincoat. I hung the backpack over the back of the bar chair, and ordered ahi tuna and a pinot grigio.
It wasn't long before I noticed that everyone who walked behind me seemed to brush my backpack. I would scream for a week if someone ripped off my camera and notebook, so I am always aware of where it is, and cautious about my surroundings. But why would everybody, in the Georgetown Inn of all places, continue to tussle with my backpack as they walked past?
I'm generally a calm person, but I was beginning to get a little annoyed. Then I noticed that every time I felt my backpack move, a noise accompanied the motion. What the hell?
Finally, I turned and watched one of the servers as she walked behind me. One spot in the old floor dipped, and the board creaked as she went. The right rear leg of my chair was perched on the end of the broken board. No one had brushed my backpack after all. They had simply walked across the soft spot on the floor which caused the right rear leg of my chair to lean just a bit, thus causing my hanging backpack to swing slightly.
I shook my head and laughed at myself. The price you pay for dining in places with historic floorboards.
HONESTY
I always appreciate honesty, even when the truth is sometimes painful or inconvenient. And I always have a tough time knowing how to deal with beggars. The compassionate side of me wants to help if they are really hungry and down on their luck. But I wasn't put on this Earth to support someone else's bad habits.
I often carry in my wallet gift certificates for a free foot-long sandwich from Subway. If someone stops me, and is genuinely hungry, I can feed them, indirectly at least. There are Subways everywhere, and that always seemed like a good way to be kind.
Today, a man appeared on the street with a sign. He was facing the other way, but I knew what the sign must mean. I thought about the contents of my wallet. I had left the certificates behind. What a shame. There is a Subway just two hundred yards away.
When he turned to face me, I read his sign, and laughed out loud. He caught me in a weak moment, but I needed a good chuckle. And, honestly, I was impressed that he had gone to the trouble of having his sign laminated! He let me take his picture - provided I gave him the $2.96 in my pocket. There is something to be said for honesty...
At this point, I should explain that I carry a small notebook everywhere I go. I jot down thoughts and ideas as they come to me. I even keep track of places I find or happy hours that are particularly good deals. To catch you up on the last week or so, I figured I would offer these fragments from my notebook.
CHERYL
After a long evening of exploring downtown DC on foot, I stopped to get a cold beer at an old place called Harry’s. I stood at the bar next to a girl who introduced herself as Cheryl, and who seemed a little too loud and a tad too intoxicated. I thought it might be time for the bartender to cut her off or for her friends to take her home.
Then I began hearing fragments of their conversation, and, when I appeared interested, she turned to me. There were a few moments of the usual small talk, and then the bartender placed a fresh cocktail in front of her, courtesy of one of her companions. She was unsteady on her feet, and, as she pulled the drink toward her, a bit splashed on the bar.
Looking at me, she grinned, lifted her glass in a familiar gesture and chirped, "It’s my twenty-fifth birthday!"
Now it all made sense. Chuckling, I tapped my glass against hers and, feigning concern, said, "I hope you make it to twenty-six."
She sipped and put the glass down in front of her. I could tell, at that moment, a thought had entered her mind, one that was familiar but nonetheless unpleasant. I watched as the expression on her face changed, and a haze descended over her eyes, giving the impression that she was looking at something far away, but seeing nothing.
Without facing me, she leaned and whispered, "My mom died on my birthday."
I don't think her hard-drinking friends had any idea. I guess she just wanted to tell… someone. I was the lucky one. I wondered how long ago it had been, and thought how awful that must be. Before I could say anything, her eyes brightened again. The silence hadn’t been long enough to be awkward.
"Aren’t you going to wish me happy birthday?" Loud, drunk Cheryl had returned just as suddenly as she had departed.
"Happy birthday," I said as I smiled and nodded at her, and took a big swig from my mug.
One of her friends grabbed her and pulled her away down the bar. Someone had bought a round of shots.
Left alone, I drank a silent toast. Birthdays are sometimes bittersweet, Cheryl. Yours will always be so.
Cheers.
THE BRICKSKELLER
I go to the Brickskeller (Link HERE) about once a week. I've spoken of it often to friends. They have 1000 different kinds of beer. They're officially recognized by the Guinness Book as holding the World Record for most beers available in a single retail location. The beer menu reads like a small novel. I love it. (Seriously, the beer list is HERE).
Most of the people who go there are beer snobs like me, but, occasionally, "normal" people arrive at the downstairs bar, no doubt by accident, and say things that seem silly to me.
One guy, with no idea what to order, told the bartender, "I'd like a beer with character..." For some reason, I immediately conjured up a mental image of them delivering a beer and Jack Nicholson. Sometimes when I'm by myself, I giggle. I'm sure people wonder why.
Once, a guy walked up and ordered a Coors Light. The look on the server's face was priceless. Her thoughts were as clear as if she had a scrolling sign on her forehead. With all this good beer here, you're ordering THAT? She looked at me in mock confusion. I grinned and shrugged. It was awesome. She brought him a Coors Light. He sat at the end of the bar, in the corner, drank it quickly, and left.
Later, a new arrival walked up to the same server saying, "Can I have a water and a Miller Lite?"
I said to her, knowing that he could hear, "Isn't that redundant?"
This server likes me. I can tell. She seems just a bit too happy to see me. Ahh, the life of a beer snob.
HISTORIC FLOORBOARDS
Inside the historic Georgetown Inn (Link HERE) is a place called the Daily Grill. During the course of my wanderings, I stopped there once for a happy hour glass of wine and one of their delicious $3.95 appetizers. The hotel has been in that building for forty years. I have no idea how old the building may be.
As I always do when I'm exploring, I had my backpack with me. I rarely venture out unless I have my camera, my notebook and my raincoat. I hung the backpack over the back of the bar chair, and ordered ahi tuna and a pinot grigio.
It wasn't long before I noticed that everyone who walked behind me seemed to brush my backpack. I would scream for a week if someone ripped off my camera and notebook, so I am always aware of where it is, and cautious about my surroundings. But why would everybody, in the Georgetown Inn of all places, continue to tussle with my backpack as they walked past?
I'm generally a calm person, but I was beginning to get a little annoyed. Then I noticed that every time I felt my backpack move, a noise accompanied the motion. What the hell?
Finally, I turned and watched one of the servers as she walked behind me. One spot in the old floor dipped, and the board creaked as she went. The right rear leg of my chair was perched on the end of the broken board. No one had brushed my backpack after all. They had simply walked across the soft spot on the floor which caused the right rear leg of my chair to lean just a bit, thus causing my hanging backpack to swing slightly.
I shook my head and laughed at myself. The price you pay for dining in places with historic floorboards.
HONESTY
I always appreciate honesty, even when the truth is sometimes painful or inconvenient. And I always have a tough time knowing how to deal with beggars. The compassionate side of me wants to help if they are really hungry and down on their luck. But I wasn't put on this Earth to support someone else's bad habits.
I often carry in my wallet gift certificates for a free foot-long sandwich from Subway. If someone stops me, and is genuinely hungry, I can feed them, indirectly at least. There are Subways everywhere, and that always seemed like a good way to be kind.
Today, a man appeared on the street with a sign. He was facing the other way, but I knew what the sign must mean. I thought about the contents of my wallet. I had left the certificates behind. What a shame. There is a Subway just two hundred yards away.
When he turned to face me, I read his sign, and laughed out loud. He caught me in a weak moment, but I needed a good chuckle. And, honestly, I was impressed that he had gone to the trouble of having his sign laminated! He let me take his picture - provided I gave him the $2.96 in my pocket. There is something to be said for honesty...
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Not On My Terms...
Early Wednesday afternoon I discovered I had been the victim of a very unlucky break, and my first inclination was to not write about it here. I wanted this blog to be a positive thing, and, once I start, it’s not terribly difficult to slide into the dark areas of doubts and fears and sadness that sometimes make my existence a struggle.
After thinking about it, though, I decided that I should include some negatives along with the positives or this would become a fairy tale rather than a document that honestly describes this stage of my life. In the grand scheme of things, it could be much worse, but it’s just not what I needed right now.
I walked out to my SUV, intending to go grocery shopping, and saw this:
As it turns out, a flatbed tow truck at the top of the hill had slipped out of gear while it was parked, rolled down the hill unoccupied, and crashed into my SUV sending it sideways over the curb against which it was parked. This happened Tuesday night, but the police were unable to locate me – my hovel is about 150 yards away, and who knows what old phone number is in the vehicle registration computer in Florida. It’s just another one of those things that we all should update but never do.
The accident apparently caused a major disturbance when it happened. Police blocked off the road and went door to door looking for the owner of the truck – which they found, and the owner of the SUV (me), which they did not. I was actually having dinner with my niece and her friend in Bethesda. When I ride the Metro, the route I take back to my hovel does not pass the place where my SUV was parked. So I knew nothing until I decided to get groceries early Wednesday afternoon, and found my SUV as you see it in the pictures, with a written description of the accident and the truck owner's name and insurance information left by the investigating officer in a sealed evidence bag tucked under my windshield wipers.
After two days of phone calls to and from my insurance company, it appears they have decided the SUV is a total loss. I have to say I was unhappy when I heard the news, but not in the way I expected.
While I tried to comprehend the idea that my SUV was destroyed, I realized that I have had it since December of 2000. I thought about how much my life had changed since then, how difficult it has sometimes been, and, as silly as it may seem, the one constant thing in that entire time has been my SUV. It has taken its share of knocks and dings, but it has been practical and reliable.
For the first few years it served as a very functional transport vehicle while Tracy’s Acura was the choice for comfort on restaurant outings and road trips. It was convenient to have my old dog Bo hop in the back and take him places. Whenever he heard the words “go for a ride” he would immediately yelp for joy and twirl around in excited circles until I opened the tailgate.
Tracy was terribly sick for a long time until a kidney transplant gave her new life. Bo died after several months of debilitating illness that was heartbreaking to watch. Then I nearly lost my right eye when a good jab from a branch of an azalea bush led to a vicious fungal infection. Somewhere along the way, Tracy and I separated and then divorced. So I moved into an apartment with a truckload of my belongings.
And I parked my SUV just outside.
During the summer of 2005 I drove all over North Florida in it, seeking every trail that could be hiked. My mind was not well so I set out to improve my body by walking, sometimes for many miles, in the pine and palmetto forests. By the summer of 2006 I had switched to biking, and my SUV proved to be the perfect carrier to move me and my bike to the entrance of the Hawthorne Trail over and over. After months of training, I successfully completed the Santa Fe Century (100 miles of riding in one day) in October of 2006. My SUV brought me and my biking gear to the starting line. When 2007 came, I had met Kami by then, and she and I – with her dog Denali – got in the habit of going to St. Augustine Beach almost weekly, a pattern we continued into 2008. Even now, when I lift the back seats, I find substantial lingering deposits of beach sand and dog hair.
And, of course, when I departed on this New Clothing Enterprise, I loaded all I could in to – and on to – my SUV. Nourished by fresh oil and steering with new front tires, it carried me up hundreds of miles of mountain roads and brought me here, to the place where I hoped to create a life more worth living.
I had decided some time ago that I would keep it until it fell apart. Who the hell wants car payments? Occasional repairs were to be expected, but I hadn’t experienced the catastrophic one that would cause me to throw in the title. The transmission seemed sound. The engine burned a bit of oil, but started quickly every time I turned the key. It was a welcome, familiar sight when I returned to every random parking lot in which I left it. For eight and a half years.
I think what disturbs me most is, once again, I don’t get to end things on my terms. I wanted to have my SUV reach the stage where I was happy to see it go. I wanted to curse it when a belt broke or a starter stopped. I wanted to kick it when the fuel pump quit suddenly on the side of a lonely road. I wanted to have time to enjoy the memories that I associate with it, the good ones.
In the long run, it might all be for the best. The loss of this last link to days gone by may signal the end of an unsettled chapter in my life. I just wish I could have been the one to write the ending. But, the chapter is written. The story moves on.
After thinking about it, though, I decided that I should include some negatives along with the positives or this would become a fairy tale rather than a document that honestly describes this stage of my life. In the grand scheme of things, it could be much worse, but it’s just not what I needed right now.
I walked out to my SUV, intending to go grocery shopping, and saw this:
As it turns out, a flatbed tow truck at the top of the hill had slipped out of gear while it was parked, rolled down the hill unoccupied, and crashed into my SUV sending it sideways over the curb against which it was parked. This happened Tuesday night, but the police were unable to locate me – my hovel is about 150 yards away, and who knows what old phone number is in the vehicle registration computer in Florida. It’s just another one of those things that we all should update but never do.
The accident apparently caused a major disturbance when it happened. Police blocked off the road and went door to door looking for the owner of the truck – which they found, and the owner of the SUV (me), which they did not. I was actually having dinner with my niece and her friend in Bethesda. When I ride the Metro, the route I take back to my hovel does not pass the place where my SUV was parked. So I knew nothing until I decided to get groceries early Wednesday afternoon, and found my SUV as you see it in the pictures, with a written description of the accident and the truck owner's name and insurance information left by the investigating officer in a sealed evidence bag tucked under my windshield wipers.
After two days of phone calls to and from my insurance company, it appears they have decided the SUV is a total loss. I have to say I was unhappy when I heard the news, but not in the way I expected.
While I tried to comprehend the idea that my SUV was destroyed, I realized that I have had it since December of 2000. I thought about how much my life had changed since then, how difficult it has sometimes been, and, as silly as it may seem, the one constant thing in that entire time has been my SUV. It has taken its share of knocks and dings, but it has been practical and reliable.
For the first few years it served as a very functional transport vehicle while Tracy’s Acura was the choice for comfort on restaurant outings and road trips. It was convenient to have my old dog Bo hop in the back and take him places. Whenever he heard the words “go for a ride” he would immediately yelp for joy and twirl around in excited circles until I opened the tailgate.
Tracy was terribly sick for a long time until a kidney transplant gave her new life. Bo died after several months of debilitating illness that was heartbreaking to watch. Then I nearly lost my right eye when a good jab from a branch of an azalea bush led to a vicious fungal infection. Somewhere along the way, Tracy and I separated and then divorced. So I moved into an apartment with a truckload of my belongings.
And I parked my SUV just outside.
During the summer of 2005 I drove all over North Florida in it, seeking every trail that could be hiked. My mind was not well so I set out to improve my body by walking, sometimes for many miles, in the pine and palmetto forests. By the summer of 2006 I had switched to biking, and my SUV proved to be the perfect carrier to move me and my bike to the entrance of the Hawthorne Trail over and over. After months of training, I successfully completed the Santa Fe Century (100 miles of riding in one day) in October of 2006. My SUV brought me and my biking gear to the starting line. When 2007 came, I had met Kami by then, and she and I – with her dog Denali – got in the habit of going to St. Augustine Beach almost weekly, a pattern we continued into 2008. Even now, when I lift the back seats, I find substantial lingering deposits of beach sand and dog hair.
And, of course, when I departed on this New Clothing Enterprise, I loaded all I could in to – and on to – my SUV. Nourished by fresh oil and steering with new front tires, it carried me up hundreds of miles of mountain roads and brought me here, to the place where I hoped to create a life more worth living.
I had decided some time ago that I would keep it until it fell apart. Who the hell wants car payments? Occasional repairs were to be expected, but I hadn’t experienced the catastrophic one that would cause me to throw in the title. The transmission seemed sound. The engine burned a bit of oil, but started quickly every time I turned the key. It was a welcome, familiar sight when I returned to every random parking lot in which I left it. For eight and a half years.
I think what disturbs me most is, once again, I don’t get to end things on my terms. I wanted to have my SUV reach the stage where I was happy to see it go. I wanted to curse it when a belt broke or a starter stopped. I wanted to kick it when the fuel pump quit suddenly on the side of a lonely road. I wanted to have time to enjoy the memories that I associate with it, the good ones.
In the long run, it might all be for the best. The loss of this last link to days gone by may signal the end of an unsettled chapter in my life. I just wish I could have been the one to write the ending. But, the chapter is written. The story moves on.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
The Circle...
Sunday, June 7 - I continue to find myself drawn toward Dupont Circle. On this warm, sunny Sunday, I decided to drive there, following the now-familiar route – straight down 16th Street all the way into the city, then right on P Street (Google Map Link HERE).
Dupont Circle (Google Map Link HERE) itself is an enormous rotary where New Hampshire, Connecticut and Massachusetts Avenues cross in controlled chaos. P Street , running east and west, and 19th Street, running north and south, bisect the whole mess. While it’s not the most pleasant place to drive, I am hopelessly captivated each time I walk there.
I park a few blocks away. It is safer and easier, and the short journey on foot is a pleasant one. Along the main roads that lead to the Circle are clothing shops, cafes, gift emporiums, hair salons, coffee houses, bookstores, bars, bistros and restaurants. The tree-shrouded streets of the nearby neighborhoods are lined with aging brick homes and apartments. Corner markets sell soft drinks, cigarettes and newspapers.
Looking North from the Edge of the Park Up 19th Street:
The giant traffic circle surrounds a small park with a fountain as its focus. The stone centerpiece looks like an enormous chalice standing upright in a pool with granite walls. Water pours from the upper edges where notches have been cut to channel the flow. Tiny birds roost at the top, anxious for the opportunity to dive for stray crumbs abandoned by the plump pigeons that scratch the ground lazily.
The Fountain:
The middle of the park – around the fountain – is open, but rows of trees shelter the surrounding grassy areas. Six sidewalks converge in the center, and people enter from all directions. Some are simply passing through, walking briskly, with purpose, while others meander for no reason at all. There are joggers and bike riders and pet owners. Many come to stay - to read or write or chat or rest on the benches. Sun bathers lay about in great numbers. A line of small sturdy tables with chessboards embedded attracts a curious crowd. Men sit or stand in the shade, thinking. Thick fingers shift bishops and knights and pawns from square to square.
Chess:
In most cities electrical outlets in public places are covered with locked boxes, but, here, a few are purposely left open for street musicians to plug in (or even to charge a cell phone).
Power Outlet
Listening closely, you can hear music coming from different gatherings all around. The sounds of guitars, congas, violins and voices mask the din of the passing traffic. I inch my way closer to one group. They are really good.
Street Musicians:
Th people-watching is endlessly fascinating. Hours have passed, and I am sunburned and thirsty, but I find myself saddened when it is time to leave. Something is different here. These are not beggars or derelicts, just residents with no back yard. The aura is real, and the energy is palpable as they gather purely for the sake of gathering. City stresses evaporate like mist from the fountain pool. While the turbulent currents of daily life literally swirl around them, they seem content to relax, take a breath, and treasure the simple moments that make it all worthwhile.
360 Degree Video:
Dupont Circle (Google Map Link HERE) itself is an enormous rotary where New Hampshire, Connecticut and Massachusetts Avenues cross in controlled chaos. P Street , running east and west, and 19th Street, running north and south, bisect the whole mess. While it’s not the most pleasant place to drive, I am hopelessly captivated each time I walk there.
I park a few blocks away. It is safer and easier, and the short journey on foot is a pleasant one. Along the main roads that lead to the Circle are clothing shops, cafes, gift emporiums, hair salons, coffee houses, bookstores, bars, bistros and restaurants. The tree-shrouded streets of the nearby neighborhoods are lined with aging brick homes and apartments. Corner markets sell soft drinks, cigarettes and newspapers.
Looking North from the Edge of the Park Up 19th Street:
The giant traffic circle surrounds a small park with a fountain as its focus. The stone centerpiece looks like an enormous chalice standing upright in a pool with granite walls. Water pours from the upper edges where notches have been cut to channel the flow. Tiny birds roost at the top, anxious for the opportunity to dive for stray crumbs abandoned by the plump pigeons that scratch the ground lazily.
The Fountain:
The middle of the park – around the fountain – is open, but rows of trees shelter the surrounding grassy areas. Six sidewalks converge in the center, and people enter from all directions. Some are simply passing through, walking briskly, with purpose, while others meander for no reason at all. There are joggers and bike riders and pet owners. Many come to stay - to read or write or chat or rest on the benches. Sun bathers lay about in great numbers. A line of small sturdy tables with chessboards embedded attracts a curious crowd. Men sit or stand in the shade, thinking. Thick fingers shift bishops and knights and pawns from square to square.
Chess:
In most cities electrical outlets in public places are covered with locked boxes, but, here, a few are purposely left open for street musicians to plug in (or even to charge a cell phone).
Power Outlet
Listening closely, you can hear music coming from different gatherings all around. The sounds of guitars, congas, violins and voices mask the din of the passing traffic. I inch my way closer to one group. They are really good.
Street Musicians:
Th people-watching is endlessly fascinating. Hours have passed, and I am sunburned and thirsty, but I find myself saddened when it is time to leave. Something is different here. These are not beggars or derelicts, just residents with no back yard. The aura is real, and the energy is palpable as they gather purely for the sake of gathering. City stresses evaporate like mist from the fountain pool. While the turbulent currents of daily life literally swirl around them, they seem content to relax, take a breath, and treasure the simple moments that make it all worthwhile.
360 Degree Video:
The CCT...
Saturday, June 6 – I finally made time to grab both my bikes off their storage rack, and clean them up from top to bottom. It doesn’t take long for a bike to show signs of neglect, and mine had spent three weeks outdoors – two weeks strapped to the back of my car or under a tarp at my campsite, and a week on the back deck of my hovel. It took two hours, but I scrubbed and re-oiled the chains, and cleaned everything as well as I could. To celebrate, I decided to explore the Capital Crescent Trail (Link HERE)
It is permissible to bring your bike on the Metro, as long as it is not during rush hours (7 AM to 10AM and 4 PM to 7 PM on weekdays), so I biked to the station near me, dragged my bike on to the train (you can use the handicapped elevators for access, rather than trying to manhandle your bike up and down the escalators), and hopped off in Silver Spring. There is a mile or two of side roads to negotiate before you get to the top end of the Trail, but, as soon as I made it I was SO happy I did.
I can’t say enough good things about the Trail. It is fabulous. For the first couple of miles, the surface is crushed gravel, and not suitable for a true road bike. I rode my mountain bike. Once you reach Bethesda, it is fully paved from there to Georgetown. I hadn’t ridden in a long time, and it was a beautiful day. Tons of people use the Trail for walking, running, biking or just hanging out. There are many historical sites and other points of interest along the way (Link HERE), and, once it curves around and follows the Potomac, it offers terrific scenery and views. One of my previous entries had a link to the photo page of the Capital Crescent Trail website, and if you didn't view the page then, I recommend doing it now (Link HERE).
After riding all the way down to Georgetown (about 11 or 12 miles), I wandered around for a while (Georgetown itself is amazing, and will most certainly be the subject of future blog entries), and stopped in the Daily Grill inside the Georgetown Inn (Link HERE) for a glass of wine. It was the perfect end to the afternoon.
A short ride up P Street brought me to the Metro station at Dupont Circle for the trip home...
It is permissible to bring your bike on the Metro, as long as it is not during rush hours (7 AM to 10AM and 4 PM to 7 PM on weekdays), so I biked to the station near me, dragged my bike on to the train (you can use the handicapped elevators for access, rather than trying to manhandle your bike up and down the escalators), and hopped off in Silver Spring. There is a mile or two of side roads to negotiate before you get to the top end of the Trail, but, as soon as I made it I was SO happy I did.
I can’t say enough good things about the Trail. It is fabulous. For the first couple of miles, the surface is crushed gravel, and not suitable for a true road bike. I rode my mountain bike. Once you reach Bethesda, it is fully paved from there to Georgetown. I hadn’t ridden in a long time, and it was a beautiful day. Tons of people use the Trail for walking, running, biking or just hanging out. There are many historical sites and other points of interest along the way (Link HERE), and, once it curves around and follows the Potomac, it offers terrific scenery and views. One of my previous entries had a link to the photo page of the Capital Crescent Trail website, and if you didn't view the page then, I recommend doing it now (Link HERE).
After riding all the way down to Georgetown (about 11 or 12 miles), I wandered around for a while (Georgetown itself is amazing, and will most certainly be the subject of future blog entries), and stopped in the Daily Grill inside the Georgetown Inn (Link HERE) for a glass of wine. It was the perfect end to the afternoon.
A short ride up P Street brought me to the Metro station at Dupont Circle for the trip home...
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Top 10 Reasons...
I hope my faithful readers will accept my apologies; I have added no blog entries in the last few days. I had grand plans to do a few interesting things, but the weather was uncooperative, and my time was mostly spent on the computer job-hunting and sending out resumes and cover letters. While these activities were clearly vital, they are not terribly interesting to read about.
But, since I am a vastly intelligent and incredibly considerate blogger (please hold the laughter), I have saved a few topics for dry spells (or wet weather spells) such as these.
Without further ado, here are my Top 10 Reasons for Moving to the DC Area:
10) For some reason, over the last few years, I've developed a desire to live in or near a big city, use mass transportation, and just generally enjoy some of the advantages a big city offers.
9) The economy in the DC area isn't expected to suffer as much as it is in other areas. Many jobs here depend directly or indirectly on the federal government, and the government - last time I checked - is not going away. I've read that they expect the economy here to grow by 2.5% by the end of 2010.
8) As noted in one of my previous entries (Link HERE), this is a truly international city. Every day I am amazed at the diversity of people, cultures, languages, etc.
7) As someone who grew up camping, but has gotten away from it in recent years, I like the proximity to the mountains and other outdoor recreation. I am seventy-six miles from the northern end of Skyline Drive and the Shenandoah National Park, and there are countless other parks, lakes, rivers, ski areas and biking trails within reasonable driving distance.
6) I am intrigued by the cultural opportunities here. There is certainly no shortage of museums, concerts, sporting events, etc. For a town its size, Gainesville had a nice offering of cultural experiences, but, seriously, can anyplace compare to the DC museums?
5) As noted in one of my previous entries (Link HERE), the history and mystery here are unmatched. Sometimes it seems like every street and building has some story to tell or some secret to hide.
4) The challenge of being in a new place and being forced to think, improvise and adapt is very appealing. Living in the same town for twenty-seven years has its advantages, but, in my case, portions of my brain went into hibernation.
3) There is a lifetime worth of Civil War exploring to be done here. There is much to learn just about the city itself during the war - political as well as military events. By the war's end, Washington DC was surrounded by more than thirty-seven miles of fortified lines, including no fewer than sixty-eight forts, over twenty miles of rifle pits, four picket stations and ninety-three separate batteries of artillery containing over 1,500 guns. Even now, the names of the parks and neighborhoods trace their origins to the war: Ft. Slocum Park, Ft. Davis Park, Ft. Reno Park, Ft. Bayard Park, Battery Kemble Park, Ft. Washington, Ft. Myer Heights, Stronghold, and more. Even the area around the Metro station where I sometimes change trains is called Ft. Totten.
That's just IN the city. Once you get out into Maryland and Virginia... holy cow. It is said that there were 10,000 Civil War battles or skirmishes, and it has been estimated that 60% of them occurred in Virginia. On top of that, the chair in which I now sit is seventy-one miles from Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. It is fifty-eight miles from Sharpsburg, Maryland (Antietam). And it is forty-one miles from Harper's Ferry, West Virginia. You get the picture...
2) As much as I like reflecting on history, here I have the opportunity to witness history in the making. With President Obama in office, and the political climate changing (I hope), it seems like these will be interesting times to live in the nation's capital.
1) And the number one reason for moving to this area... (drum roll)... being over thirty-five and single in Gainesville sucks.
But, since I am a vastly intelligent and incredibly considerate blogger (please hold the laughter), I have saved a few topics for dry spells (or wet weather spells) such as these.
Without further ado, here are my Top 10 Reasons for Moving to the DC Area:
10) For some reason, over the last few years, I've developed a desire to live in or near a big city, use mass transportation, and just generally enjoy some of the advantages a big city offers.
9) The economy in the DC area isn't expected to suffer as much as it is in other areas. Many jobs here depend directly or indirectly on the federal government, and the government - last time I checked - is not going away. I've read that they expect the economy here to grow by 2.5% by the end of 2010.
8) As noted in one of my previous entries (Link HERE), this is a truly international city. Every day I am amazed at the diversity of people, cultures, languages, etc.
7) As someone who grew up camping, but has gotten away from it in recent years, I like the proximity to the mountains and other outdoor recreation. I am seventy-six miles from the northern end of Skyline Drive and the Shenandoah National Park, and there are countless other parks, lakes, rivers, ski areas and biking trails within reasonable driving distance.
6) I am intrigued by the cultural opportunities here. There is certainly no shortage of museums, concerts, sporting events, etc. For a town its size, Gainesville had a nice offering of cultural experiences, but, seriously, can anyplace compare to the DC museums?
5) As noted in one of my previous entries (Link HERE), the history and mystery here are unmatched. Sometimes it seems like every street and building has some story to tell or some secret to hide.
4) The challenge of being in a new place and being forced to think, improvise and adapt is very appealing. Living in the same town for twenty-seven years has its advantages, but, in my case, portions of my brain went into hibernation.
3) There is a lifetime worth of Civil War exploring to be done here. There is much to learn just about the city itself during the war - political as well as military events. By the war's end, Washington DC was surrounded by more than thirty-seven miles of fortified lines, including no fewer than sixty-eight forts, over twenty miles of rifle pits, four picket stations and ninety-three separate batteries of artillery containing over 1,500 guns. Even now, the names of the parks and neighborhoods trace their origins to the war: Ft. Slocum Park, Ft. Davis Park, Ft. Reno Park, Ft. Bayard Park, Battery Kemble Park, Ft. Washington, Ft. Myer Heights, Stronghold, and more. Even the area around the Metro station where I sometimes change trains is called Ft. Totten.
That's just IN the city. Once you get out into Maryland and Virginia... holy cow. It is said that there were 10,000 Civil War battles or skirmishes, and it has been estimated that 60% of them occurred in Virginia. On top of that, the chair in which I now sit is seventy-one miles from Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. It is fifty-eight miles from Sharpsburg, Maryland (Antietam). And it is forty-one miles from Harper's Ferry, West Virginia. You get the picture...
2) As much as I like reflecting on history, here I have the opportunity to witness history in the making. With President Obama in office, and the political climate changing (I hope), it seems like these will be interesting times to live in the nation's capital.
1) And the number one reason for moving to this area... (drum roll)... being over thirty-five and single in Gainesville sucks.
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