The weather today was lousy. Angry clouds and drenching rain all day. It was the perfect opportunity to clean up and start packing. I am anxious now to be back in Florida, to see family and friends, to enjoy familiar surroundings, to move on.
My experience in Maryland has been extremely stressful, partly due to events beyond my control, but largely because of circumstances I created for myself. I realize now that it was more about time than place. I moved to the Washington, DC suburbs because I genuinely like the area, and the city itself, but what I really needed was time to enjoy the things I like about myself, and time to examine the things I don't like. What do you do when you discover that the person you have become is not the person you want to be?
There is no easy way to change direction when you have been in the same town, working the same job for years and years. I wanted to break all routines of behavior, disrupt all patterns of thought, and keep the strongest parts of the old life structure while adding to it new features that will make it more durable, and more functional.
The process is nowhere near complete. I'm only now beginning to understand that the New Clothing Enterprise will last as long as I do. But I've noticed differences in myself. And I like them.
I find that waves of warmth flow over me when I see loving parents cuddling a happy toddler. I eat slowly, and enjoy my food. I sip drinks. I stop when I see flowers or trees or patches of blue sky that remind me how great it is to be alive. I will literally stand and smile, and enjoy the sight, and let it register in my mind. If you can't find happiness in such things, where will you find it? Never surrender your right to live in the moment. Who knows how many moments we have left?
I no longer get upset when I make wrong turns, especially if it's a road I've never been down before. How many wonderful things and places have been discovered by accident? I talk to animals now. Not far from where I live, there are two areas that always attract deer at dusk. When I walk past them as I return from the train station at the end of the day, I have made it a habit to say, "Hi deer," and then chuckle to myself. You should try it. It works. Don't worry, the animals haven't started talking back. Yet.
After doing some preliminary packing, I went up the road to the Stained Glass Pub. It's the nearest place to get a drink and watch sports with a boisterous crowd of regular patrons. I went there often when I first arrived here. People were immediately tolerant, if not downright friendly. I had chatted with a handful of them. I had gone four weeks without a visit there, four weeks without any alcohol at all, actually, and I think they missed me. Now I had to say good-bye.
Before I left the house, Jun Li, the young Asian guy who lives across the hall, was stocking the fridge with a 12 pack of Heineken. He always has beer. I asked if the box of wine that had been chilling in there for weeks belonged to Cynthia, and tried not to make a face at the mere thought of wine in a cardboard container. No, the wine was his, he said, in case of emergencies. I laughed and wondered what would constitute an "emergency."
After I shuffled through a slight drizzle from the car into the Pub, I hadn't been at the bar for more than twenty seconds before Murat slid a cold mug of Stella in my direction. He's good about that.
Hunter stopped to chat. He is a crusty old guy who manages the kitchen during the week, but works weekend shifts as a server for extra money. His throat is ravaged from years of smoking and drinking, but he is a character. It is karaoke night in the other room, and he sees me wince as someone hits a sour note. Karaoke originated in Japan, and I wish it had stayed there. Seeing the expression of painful disapproval on my face, Hunter leans in to my ear and whispers, "Next to the CIA and a handful of others, I'm one of the few who knows that karaoke is covert, long-term payback for Hiroshima and Nagasaki."
He walks off to one of his tables, and then looks back. His eyes sparkle in the dark room when he turns to see me still laughing. He looks tired, but I know he is enjoying himself.
Another man, whose name I can't remember, walks by. He's wearing a T-shirt that tells you everything you need to know about him. It says: No sense in being pessimistic. It wouldn't work anyway.
I stayed for three beers and the end of the Redskins game, then I was ready to go. I thanked Murat for his kindness, smiled and waved at a few others, and left.
Next stop: Florida.
The New Clothing Enterprise continues...
Friday, August 21, 2009
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Escape...
I was so taken by the setting of Ft. Washington that I decided to return there, but I felt like I needed another excuse to justify retracing some of my steps. So I decided I would search for the first two stops on the escape route of John Wilkes Booth.
The Booth Escape Route (you may need to click the photo and view the enlarged version)
Most of us know the story (if the details are sketchy in your mind, you can find information on Lincoln's assassination HERE]. On April 14, 1865, Booth, acting somewhat in conjunction with a handful of others, shot the president, and fled across the Navy Yard bridge into Maryland. He stopped, initially at a home owned by Mary Surratt in Clinton, Maryland.
This modest plantation home had done a variety of duties. The Surratt's ran it as a tavern, boarding house and post office. John Surratt, Sr died in 1862, leaving behind considerable financial difficulties, and Mary rented the home to - oddly enough - a policeman, and moved into Washington, DC to run a boarding house. It was there that she and her son, John, Jr, met John Wilkes Booth.
As Booth fled the capitol on the night of the assassination, he met up with co-conspirator David Herold, and stopped at the Surratt house to retrieve weapons and supplies that had been stashed there.
The Surratt House
I will add one interesting side note; according to the Surratt Society website [Link HERE], Mary Surratt - as a result of whatever role she played in the whole affair - became the first woman executed by the United States government.
Of course, as we now know, Booth had broken his leg while jumping from the president's box seats to the stage below. He and Herold went to visit Dr. Samuel Mudd, where they spent the night.
The Mudd House
The house still belongs to the Mudd family, and has limited visiting hours.
I could have continued south from the Mudd House, following the rest of the Escape Route to the edge of the Potomac, where Booth eventually paddled across to Virginia, and then was trapped and killed by Union soldiers, but I had gone far enough for one day. It was time for my own escape, and the reason I ventured back into this area in the first place.
I drove to Ft. Washington. After all, it was a Fee Free Weekend! I wanted to sit and relax as the day came to an end, and really enjoy the beauty of the place. This time, I brought fresh whole wheat bread, cheese, grapes, and organic iced tea with spearmint. And I had picked out the perfect picnic spot the day before...
The Booth Escape Route (you may need to click the photo and view the enlarged version)
Most of us know the story (if the details are sketchy in your mind, you can find information on Lincoln's assassination HERE]. On April 14, 1865, Booth, acting somewhat in conjunction with a handful of others, shot the president, and fled across the Navy Yard bridge into Maryland. He stopped, initially at a home owned by Mary Surratt in Clinton, Maryland.
This modest plantation home had done a variety of duties. The Surratt's ran it as a tavern, boarding house and post office. John Surratt, Sr died in 1862, leaving behind considerable financial difficulties, and Mary rented the home to - oddly enough - a policeman, and moved into Washington, DC to run a boarding house. It was there that she and her son, John, Jr, met John Wilkes Booth.
As Booth fled the capitol on the night of the assassination, he met up with co-conspirator David Herold, and stopped at the Surratt house to retrieve weapons and supplies that had been stashed there.
The Surratt House
I will add one interesting side note; according to the Surratt Society website [Link HERE], Mary Surratt - as a result of whatever role she played in the whole affair - became the first woman executed by the United States government.
Of course, as we now know, Booth had broken his leg while jumping from the president's box seats to the stage below. He and Herold went to visit Dr. Samuel Mudd, where they spent the night.
The Mudd House
The house still belongs to the Mudd family, and has limited visiting hours.
I could have continued south from the Mudd House, following the rest of the Escape Route to the edge of the Potomac, where Booth eventually paddled across to Virginia, and then was trapped and killed by Union soldiers, but I had gone far enough for one day. It was time for my own escape, and the reason I ventured back into this area in the first place.
I drove to Ft. Washington. After all, it was a Fee Free Weekend! I wanted to sit and relax as the day came to an end, and really enjoy the beauty of the place. This time, I brought fresh whole wheat bread, cheese, grapes, and organic iced tea with spearmint. And I had picked out the perfect picnic spot the day before...
Monday, August 17, 2009
Forts (Part 2)...
Here's a test. Name a battle from the War of 1812. It's okay. Take your time.
Give up? Most people will eventually remember the Battle of New Orleans (probably because of that stupid song), and, if you think long enough, you might come up with Ft. McHenry, since it led to the birth of our national anthem. Beyond that, the war is largely a black hole in American history. When the enemy captures and burns your capitol, it's not likely to be remembered fondly.
The British, you see, were fighting the French. I know, when were they not fighting the French? (Answer: When they were fighting the Spanish!) The king (possibly still bitter about the whole revolution thing) was mad that the former colonies were continuing to trade with the French despite the fact that the former mother country was at war with them. The Americans, it seems, had become rather fond of champagne, perfume and fancy underwear. The tension eventually caused an outbreak of hostilities in 1812, although the British weren't terribly interested until 1814, since, by then, they had finally defeated Napoleon, and banished him to the island of Elba.
I mention this because the War of 1812 was the first time that the site of Ft. Washington came into play, and Ft. Washington was the next fort I visited after Ft. Foote.
[National Park Service site HERE]
[Google aerial view HERE]
Ft. Washington was originally called Ft. Warburton. It was a very simple structure, completed in 1808 to protect the Potomac River approaches to the cities of Alexandria, Virginia and Washington, DC. When, on August 19, 1814, British forces landed at Benedict, Maryland on the Patuxent River, and began moving toward Washington, DC from the southeast, the fort's commander, Captain Samuel Dyson, was naturally quite concerned. After winning the Battle of Bladensburg - 6 miles east of Washington, DC - on August 24, the British spent a restful night in the nation's capitol, but not before taking time to set fire to the government buildings.
On August 27, as British foot soldiers retraced their steps toward Benedict, the British fleet sailed up the Potomac and approached Ft. Warburton. Dyson had a garrison of just 49 men, and, faced with the enemy land forces behind him and the enemy fleet in front of him, he did what any sensible commander would do under the circumstances; he used his 3,000 pound store of gunpowder to blow the fort to smithereens, and then ran screaming into the night (a court martial later found him guilty of abandoning his post and destroying government property).
From there, the British turned their attention to Baltimore, were repulsed at North Point, and at Ft. McHenry, about which Francis Scott Key wrote a moving poem, and the rest, as they say, is history.
But it was from this inauspicious beginning as Ft. Warburton, that Ft. Washington was born. As early as 1794, the great general and the nation's first president had recognized the need to construct fortifications on the high bluffs at this location, partly because it offered a terrific field of fire that would discourage enemy ships from advancing up the Potomac, and partly because it was right across the river from his house.
The War of 1812 had shown the young nation that real coastal defenses, capable of actual resistance, were necessary. Where they existed, such as at Ft. McHenry, they had been successful. By 1824, Ft. Washington was completed on the site of the less fortunate previous fort, and, I have to tell you, for a visitor, Ft. Washington is fabulous.
Before I continue, I should note that, by some miracle, I had stumbled on another Fee Free Weekend at a national park, and was thus robbed of one more opportunity to use my Annual Pass.
But, as you can see, the location did not disappoint.
The purpose of the structure was simple: to contain and shelter as many weapons as possible, almost all of them pointed at the Potomac River. Coupled with Ft. Hunt on the Virginia side, this would have made a considerable gauntlet for invaders intent on sailing up to Washington, DC.
The early fort was improved in the 1840's, and again in the 1890's when eight concrete shore batteries were added to supplement the original casemate fort.
The fort was abandoned twice along the way - it was empty for nearly twenty years after the Civil War - but was reoccupied whenever foreign hostilities arose.
Finally, the site was turned over to the Department of the Interior, in 1946, right after World War II.
At some point, a small wooden lighthouse was constructed where the rugged spur of land extends furthest into the river. I wandered around for a few hours, and then found a spot on the bluff to watch the sun fall behind the distant trees. If only I'd thought to bring champagne...
Give up? Most people will eventually remember the Battle of New Orleans (probably because of that stupid song), and, if you think long enough, you might come up with Ft. McHenry, since it led to the birth of our national anthem. Beyond that, the war is largely a black hole in American history. When the enemy captures and burns your capitol, it's not likely to be remembered fondly.
The British, you see, were fighting the French. I know, when were they not fighting the French? (Answer: When they were fighting the Spanish!) The king (possibly still bitter about the whole revolution thing) was mad that the former colonies were continuing to trade with the French despite the fact that the former mother country was at war with them. The Americans, it seems, had become rather fond of champagne, perfume and fancy underwear. The tension eventually caused an outbreak of hostilities in 1812, although the British weren't terribly interested until 1814, since, by then, they had finally defeated Napoleon, and banished him to the island of Elba.
I mention this because the War of 1812 was the first time that the site of Ft. Washington came into play, and Ft. Washington was the next fort I visited after Ft. Foote.
[National Park Service site HERE]
[Google aerial view HERE]
Ft. Washington was originally called Ft. Warburton. It was a very simple structure, completed in 1808 to protect the Potomac River approaches to the cities of Alexandria, Virginia and Washington, DC. When, on August 19, 1814, British forces landed at Benedict, Maryland on the Patuxent River, and began moving toward Washington, DC from the southeast, the fort's commander, Captain Samuel Dyson, was naturally quite concerned. After winning the Battle of Bladensburg - 6 miles east of Washington, DC - on August 24, the British spent a restful night in the nation's capitol, but not before taking time to set fire to the government buildings.
On August 27, as British foot soldiers retraced their steps toward Benedict, the British fleet sailed up the Potomac and approached Ft. Warburton. Dyson had a garrison of just 49 men, and, faced with the enemy land forces behind him and the enemy fleet in front of him, he did what any sensible commander would do under the circumstances; he used his 3,000 pound store of gunpowder to blow the fort to smithereens, and then ran screaming into the night (a court martial later found him guilty of abandoning his post and destroying government property).
From there, the British turned their attention to Baltimore, were repulsed at North Point, and at Ft. McHenry, about which Francis Scott Key wrote a moving poem, and the rest, as they say, is history.
But it was from this inauspicious beginning as Ft. Warburton, that Ft. Washington was born. As early as 1794, the great general and the nation's first president had recognized the need to construct fortifications on the high bluffs at this location, partly because it offered a terrific field of fire that would discourage enemy ships from advancing up the Potomac, and partly because it was right across the river from his house.
The War of 1812 had shown the young nation that real coastal defenses, capable of actual resistance, were necessary. Where they existed, such as at Ft. McHenry, they had been successful. By 1824, Ft. Washington was completed on the site of the less fortunate previous fort, and, I have to tell you, for a visitor, Ft. Washington is fabulous.
Before I continue, I should note that, by some miracle, I had stumbled on another Fee Free Weekend at a national park, and was thus robbed of one more opportunity to use my Annual Pass.
But, as you can see, the location did not disappoint.
The purpose of the structure was simple: to contain and shelter as many weapons as possible, almost all of them pointed at the Potomac River. Coupled with Ft. Hunt on the Virginia side, this would have made a considerable gauntlet for invaders intent on sailing up to Washington, DC.
The early fort was improved in the 1840's, and again in the 1890's when eight concrete shore batteries were added to supplement the original casemate fort.
The fort was abandoned twice along the way - it was empty for nearly twenty years after the Civil War - but was reoccupied whenever foreign hostilities arose.
Finally, the site was turned over to the Department of the Interior, in 1946, right after World War II.
At some point, a small wooden lighthouse was constructed where the rugged spur of land extends furthest into the river. I wandered around for a few hours, and then found a spot on the bluff to watch the sun fall behind the distant trees. If only I'd thought to bring champagne...
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Forts...
This weekend I decided to explore forts. A string of them - literally dozens - once surrounded our nation's capitol, most of them from the Civil War, but some from before or after. I set out for Ft. Foote, on the Maryland side of the Potomac, a few miles south of DC.
[National Park Service site HERE]
[Google aerial view HERE]
It is little more than ruins of a Civil War era fort now administered by the National Park Service, and it is very much off the beaten path, but I knew as soon as I turned into the entrance that I would like it.
There, right next to the dirt road, was a mother deer and her little one, and they wouldn't get out of the way! I wanted to hop from behind the wheel and walk up and say, "Look, I'm one of those nasty human beings that you frequently see from a distance, and you should have run off in sheer terror about three minutes ago." Finally, I just drove slowly by. The grass in that particular spot must have been delicious. Mom and baby stopped chewing, and just looked at me as I passed on the way to the little parking lot. Then they resumed.
It soon became apparent why the fort was left untouched, or, more specifically, why the cannons were left untouched. Some of the guns placed here were so big it was difficult to remove them once they were no longer needed. I'm sure, at the start of the war, with Confederate troops running back and forth out there in the woods and warships sailing around God knows where, there must have been a sense of urgency to move the things into place. After the war, when someone got the bright idea to relocate them, I'm guessing the response was a series of raised eyebrows, accompanied by a "you must be joking" look. These are Rodman 15 inch smoothbore cannons. Two of them remain at the site. To get an idea of their size, you can compare them to the couple from Kansas and their young daughter that I ran into during my wanderings.
(Don't forget, you can click on each of these images to view larger versions)
These monsters fired an iron ball that weighed 434 pounds. The guns themselves weighed 49,000 pounds. I wouldn't want to move them. Would you want to move them? So, here they sit, in the Maryland woods on the edge of the Potomac, surrounded by apparently scrumptious fields and lovely trees.
The arched, concrete structures that were powder magazines, and supporting facilities have seen better days, but they are still very much in evidence. I love walking around places like this. It never ceases to fascinate me. The trick is in trying to picture yourself there at the time. Imagine you are Fred the Union Soldier, and you are standing by the front gate in 1863 wondering why the deer won't go away. Your rations haven't been up to par lately, and you're thinking about munching some of that grass yourself...
Anyway, sites like this are great because there usually isn't much to them, and you can move along quickly without feeling like you've left something out. It gives you a real feeling of accomplishment. There was one curious thing. A road led from the parking lot to the ruins, and another road led, after a half mile or so, to a grill and a trash can. I'm not kidding. Here they are, hundreds of yards way from anything else in the park:
I was trying to figure out why this would be the case, when, because I have become so adept at imagining myself in another place and another time, I pictured park headquarters during the meeting that must have decided on this arrangement.
Ranger 1: Well, we think we have the Ft. Foote park ready to open to the public, sir. Most of the debris has been removed. We've cleared a parking lot and a road to the site. We've even made sure there is no residue remaining from the gas tests that were conducted there during World War I.
Head Ranger: Excellent. (looks at a map of the site, and wonders about the other road). What is this road for?
Ranger 1: Nothing, sir.
Head Ranger: Nothing?
Ranger 1: That's correct, sir.
Head Ranger: Well, why is it there?
Ranger 1: We didn't actually want the road to be there, sir. It's just the place where they parked the bulldozer for breaks and lunches while they were clearing the road that we did want.
Head Ranger: I see. (pauses to think) That's a problem.
Ranger 1: What do you mean, sir?
Head Ranger: People will be mad if we let them walk down a long road that leads to nowhere.
Ranger 1: I see your point, sir.
Ranger 2: (meekly, unsure of himself) We could... We could put a grill at the end of the road, sir.
Head Ranger: A grill? Why on Earth would we want to put a grill at the end of a long road that leads to nowhere?
Ranger 2: That way, when people get to the end of the road, they would think that the road was there to take them to the grill, sir.
Head Ranger: (thinks again, for a long moment, then exclaims) By God, that's genius!
Ranger 2: Thank you, sir. (bolder now) We could even put a trash can with the grill, sir. That way it would really appear as if we intended them to be there all along.
Head Ranger: (excited now) Genius, I tell you. Genius. (looks at Ranger 1) What do you think about that Ranger 1?
Ranger 1: Installing a grill and a trash can would be much cheaper than erasing a long road to nowhere, sir.
Head Ranger: (pounds the conference table decisively with a clenched fist) Make it so.
I inspected the grill, and it looked as if it had actually been used at some point, although probably not since the Carter administration. But Ft. Foote was a great way to start the day, and a perfect primer for what was to follow...
[National Park Service site HERE]
[Google aerial view HERE]
It is little more than ruins of a Civil War era fort now administered by the National Park Service, and it is very much off the beaten path, but I knew as soon as I turned into the entrance that I would like it.
There, right next to the dirt road, was a mother deer and her little one, and they wouldn't get out of the way! I wanted to hop from behind the wheel and walk up and say, "Look, I'm one of those nasty human beings that you frequently see from a distance, and you should have run off in sheer terror about three minutes ago." Finally, I just drove slowly by. The grass in that particular spot must have been delicious. Mom and baby stopped chewing, and just looked at me as I passed on the way to the little parking lot. Then they resumed.
It soon became apparent why the fort was left untouched, or, more specifically, why the cannons were left untouched. Some of the guns placed here were so big it was difficult to remove them once they were no longer needed. I'm sure, at the start of the war, with Confederate troops running back and forth out there in the woods and warships sailing around God knows where, there must have been a sense of urgency to move the things into place. After the war, when someone got the bright idea to relocate them, I'm guessing the response was a series of raised eyebrows, accompanied by a "you must be joking" look. These are Rodman 15 inch smoothbore cannons. Two of them remain at the site. To get an idea of their size, you can compare them to the couple from Kansas and their young daughter that I ran into during my wanderings.
(Don't forget, you can click on each of these images to view larger versions)
These monsters fired an iron ball that weighed 434 pounds. The guns themselves weighed 49,000 pounds. I wouldn't want to move them. Would you want to move them? So, here they sit, in the Maryland woods on the edge of the Potomac, surrounded by apparently scrumptious fields and lovely trees.
The arched, concrete structures that were powder magazines, and supporting facilities have seen better days, but they are still very much in evidence. I love walking around places like this. It never ceases to fascinate me. The trick is in trying to picture yourself there at the time. Imagine you are Fred the Union Soldier, and you are standing by the front gate in 1863 wondering why the deer won't go away. Your rations haven't been up to par lately, and you're thinking about munching some of that grass yourself...
Anyway, sites like this are great because there usually isn't much to them, and you can move along quickly without feeling like you've left something out. It gives you a real feeling of accomplishment. There was one curious thing. A road led from the parking lot to the ruins, and another road led, after a half mile or so, to a grill and a trash can. I'm not kidding. Here they are, hundreds of yards way from anything else in the park:
I was trying to figure out why this would be the case, when, because I have become so adept at imagining myself in another place and another time, I pictured park headquarters during the meeting that must have decided on this arrangement.
Ranger 1: Well, we think we have the Ft. Foote park ready to open to the public, sir. Most of the debris has been removed. We've cleared a parking lot and a road to the site. We've even made sure there is no residue remaining from the gas tests that were conducted there during World War I.
Head Ranger: Excellent. (looks at a map of the site, and wonders about the other road). What is this road for?
Ranger 1: Nothing, sir.
Head Ranger: Nothing?
Ranger 1: That's correct, sir.
Head Ranger: Well, why is it there?
Ranger 1: We didn't actually want the road to be there, sir. It's just the place where they parked the bulldozer for breaks and lunches while they were clearing the road that we did want.
Head Ranger: I see. (pauses to think) That's a problem.
Ranger 1: What do you mean, sir?
Head Ranger: People will be mad if we let them walk down a long road that leads to nowhere.
Ranger 1: I see your point, sir.
Ranger 2: (meekly, unsure of himself) We could... We could put a grill at the end of the road, sir.
Head Ranger: A grill? Why on Earth would we want to put a grill at the end of a long road that leads to nowhere?
Ranger 2: That way, when people get to the end of the road, they would think that the road was there to take them to the grill, sir.
Head Ranger: (thinks again, for a long moment, then exclaims) By God, that's genius!
Ranger 2: Thank you, sir. (bolder now) We could even put a trash can with the grill, sir. That way it would really appear as if we intended them to be there all along.
Head Ranger: (excited now) Genius, I tell you. Genius. (looks at Ranger 1) What do you think about that Ranger 1?
Ranger 1: Installing a grill and a trash can would be much cheaper than erasing a long road to nowhere, sir.
Head Ranger: (pounds the conference table decisively with a clenched fist) Make it so.
I inspected the grill, and it looked as if it had actually been used at some point, although probably not since the Carter administration. But Ft. Foote was a great way to start the day, and a perfect primer for what was to follow...
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Moving Up...
Yesterday, I spent most of the day moving my stuff to one of the upstairs bedrooms. Rachel and Leslie moved out over the weekend, and Lisa (the landlord) wanted to embark on a massive re-organizing effort downstairs, and then advertise both of those rooms for rent since they seem to be more desirable. It appears that I will only be in the house for a couple more weeks, and, with two rooms coming open, I had volunteered to move anywhere that made things easier for Lisa. So, after some cleaning and preparation, I moved to Rachel’s old room on the second floor, up two flights of stairs from the basement.
In some strange way, I was looking forward to it. I wanted to see what life was like up there in the lofty heights. Despite the common area that opened to the back deck, the downstairs room felt like a cave, quiet and secure, but also dark and isolated. Usually, I enjoyed the solitude, but sometimes I felt like an inmate on Alcatraz.
Immediately after settling in the new room, I noticed some differences.
As you know, hot air rises, therefore, thermostats in multi-level dwellings are tricky things. It took only a few moments before I understood why the upstairs folks were always adjusting the temperature. While you could hang meat in the lower regions of the house, the upstairs seemed a bit toasty. I soon noticed that there were ceiling fans in all the rooms, and that the temperatures were actually in the normal range, it’s just that I had become accustomed to shivering even when it was ninety-five outside. Soon, I was quite comfy.
Then, during my first trip to the upstairs bathroom, I noticed that the exhaust fan is rather old, and, for about ninety seconds after you flick the switch, it sounds like Marine One is attempting to land on the roof. But it settled into a more restrained cacophony, and, after trudging up and down two flights of stairs forty times, the hot shower was a welcome relief.
The next major change involved sleeping. The downstairs room had a normal twin bed. This room has a queen-sized air bed. I’ve never slept on one before. In a house like this, air beds make perfect sense. When a renter shows up with their own stuff, Lisa can deflate the air bed, and store it easily. For those who need a bed, you take it out of the box, plug in the pump, and, voila! My first few attempts to settle back and read were very tentative. I couldn’t avoid the admittedly irrational fear that the thing would spontaneously pop, and traumatically deflate with an obscene rush of air, like a gigantic whoopie cushion, leaving me dazed on the floor in a pile of plastic and pillows. Eventually, I relaxed, and realized it is quite comfortable. I drifted off into a sound sleep.
This morning was my first morning in the new room, and it was a harrowing experience. As I look back, I think it started when Cynthia woke up and turned on the bathroom fan. I was still asleep, but, somewhere in the back of my brain, I began processing the disturbances around me. Something was landing on the roof! After a minute, I could hear voices, talking. Surely, this is not right. Then the music started, faintly, at first. And I could feel heat, and sense bright light, blinding light. I thought it was the beginning of a close encounter of the third kind. I may have even dreamed I was Richard Dreyfuss. It was horrifying. I awoke suddenly to see something I hadn’t seen in three months - the sun shining through my windows!
Oh yeah, did I mention that I have two windows?
Cynthia was up, getting ready for work, TV on, exhaust fan on, and there was daylight outside! It was already a glorious morning, and I decided I the best way to complete the start of the new day would be to have a cup of coffee. So, I’m off to Starbucks. Even though I’ve moved up, some things never change…
In some strange way, I was looking forward to it. I wanted to see what life was like up there in the lofty heights. Despite the common area that opened to the back deck, the downstairs room felt like a cave, quiet and secure, but also dark and isolated. Usually, I enjoyed the solitude, but sometimes I felt like an inmate on Alcatraz.
Immediately after settling in the new room, I noticed some differences.
As you know, hot air rises, therefore, thermostats in multi-level dwellings are tricky things. It took only a few moments before I understood why the upstairs folks were always adjusting the temperature. While you could hang meat in the lower regions of the house, the upstairs seemed a bit toasty. I soon noticed that there were ceiling fans in all the rooms, and that the temperatures were actually in the normal range, it’s just that I had become accustomed to shivering even when it was ninety-five outside. Soon, I was quite comfy.
Then, during my first trip to the upstairs bathroom, I noticed that the exhaust fan is rather old, and, for about ninety seconds after you flick the switch, it sounds like Marine One is attempting to land on the roof. But it settled into a more restrained cacophony, and, after trudging up and down two flights of stairs forty times, the hot shower was a welcome relief.
The next major change involved sleeping. The downstairs room had a normal twin bed. This room has a queen-sized air bed. I’ve never slept on one before. In a house like this, air beds make perfect sense. When a renter shows up with their own stuff, Lisa can deflate the air bed, and store it easily. For those who need a bed, you take it out of the box, plug in the pump, and, voila! My first few attempts to settle back and read were very tentative. I couldn’t avoid the admittedly irrational fear that the thing would spontaneously pop, and traumatically deflate with an obscene rush of air, like a gigantic whoopie cushion, leaving me dazed on the floor in a pile of plastic and pillows. Eventually, I relaxed, and realized it is quite comfortable. I drifted off into a sound sleep.
This morning was my first morning in the new room, and it was a harrowing experience. As I look back, I think it started when Cynthia woke up and turned on the bathroom fan. I was still asleep, but, somewhere in the back of my brain, I began processing the disturbances around me. Something was landing on the roof! After a minute, I could hear voices, talking. Surely, this is not right. Then the music started, faintly, at first. And I could feel heat, and sense bright light, blinding light. I thought it was the beginning of a close encounter of the third kind. I may have even dreamed I was Richard Dreyfuss. It was horrifying. I awoke suddenly to see something I hadn’t seen in three months - the sun shining through my windows!
Oh yeah, did I mention that I have two windows?
Cynthia was up, getting ready for work, TV on, exhaust fan on, and there was daylight outside! It was already a glorious morning, and I decided I the best way to complete the start of the new day would be to have a cup of coffee. So, I’m off to Starbucks. Even though I’ve moved up, some things never change…
Friday, August 7, 2009
Disruption at Fort Totten
When I first arrived in the DC area, I signed up for two text alert services. One is called DC Alert. I receive text messages on my phone when there are severe weather warnings, vehicle accidents that affect traffic patterns, or other major police, fire or utility situations that it helps to know about so they can be avoided. I also signed up for Metro Alerts. I receive text messages on my phone when there are outages, delays, repairs or other situations on the Metro that affect its ability to run on time, if at all.
It is indicative of my experience here that I get Red Line (the part of the Metro that I'm on) alerts every day since the crash on June 22. I have a hard time being too bitter because it could be much worse. I could have been on that train. The night of the crash, I ended up semi-stranded in DC, and made my way home with some improvisation and luck (See Previous Blog Entry HERE), but I really couldn't feel sorry for myself because I knew there were people who wouldn't make it home that night, and, in fact, some (as it turned out, nine of them) who would never make it home.
Still, when I chose the location of my hovel, I was counting on the Metro to provide at least part of my link to the unfamiliar outside world. It hasn't worked out the way I hoped.
The June crash occurred between the Fort Totten and Takoma Park stations, four stops down the line from the station I use (Glenmont). Service hasn't been the same since, and the frustration continues. Just today, I received twelve alert messages. Here's a sampling:
Every evening during the month of August!
If I ever write a book about my life, the chapter dealing with this portion of it will be called Disruption at Fort Totten.
It is indicative of my experience here that I get Red Line (the part of the Metro that I'm on) alerts every day since the crash on June 22. I have a hard time being too bitter because it could be much worse. I could have been on that train. The night of the crash, I ended up semi-stranded in DC, and made my way home with some improvisation and luck (See Previous Blog Entry HERE), but I really couldn't feel sorry for myself because I knew there were people who wouldn't make it home that night, and, in fact, some (as it turned out, nine of them) who would never make it home.
Still, when I chose the location of my hovel, I was counting on the Metro to provide at least part of my link to the unfamiliar outside world. It hasn't worked out the way I hoped.
The June crash occurred between the Fort Totten and Takoma Park stations, four stops down the line from the station I use (Glenmont). Service hasn't been the same since, and the frustration continues. Just today, I received twelve alert messages. Here's a sampling:
(ID 57949) Disruption at Fort Totten. Expect delays in both directions due to a switch malfunction outside Fort Totten station.
(ID 57315) Disruption at Fort Totten. Trains are moving at reduced speeds between Fort Totten and Takoma stations due to track circuit repairs. Expect delays in both directions.
(ID 57315) Disruption at Fort Totten. Due to the ongoing June 22nd accident investigation, Red line trains are traveling at reduced speeds between Fort Totten & Takoma stations. Expect delays in both directions.
(ID 57945) Disruption at Fort Totten. Every evening during the month of August, Red line trains will share the same track between Fort Totten and Takoma stations due to track circuit repairs. Customers may encounter delays and are encouraged to add at least 30 minutes to their travel times.
Every evening during the month of August!
If I ever write a book about my life, the chapter dealing with this portion of it will be called Disruption at Fort Totten.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Top 10 Beer List
When waiting on a Metro platform or standing in line somewhere, I'm sure it appears to those around me as if I'm just staring off into space, but I've actually found a very constructive way to use that time. I try to make a mental list of 10 people (living people, not historical figures) with whom I'd like to be able to sit down and enjoy a beer and a good chat.
Try it some time. It's not as easy as you think. Obviously, the possibilities are almost endless. For me, the list changes frequently, depending on my mood and present circumstances. There is one person who always seems to be there though. Gary Larson.
If the name doesn't sound familiar, he is the creator of the very clever, extremely entertaining, but often dark and bizarre series of cartoons called The Far Side.
As I contemplate my existence, I appreciate Larson's philosophical views:
I'll drink to that.
Try it some time. It's not as easy as you think. Obviously, the possibilities are almost endless. For me, the list changes frequently, depending on my mood and present circumstances. There is one person who always seems to be there though. Gary Larson.
If the name doesn't sound familiar, he is the creator of the very clever, extremely entertaining, but often dark and bizarre series of cartoons called The Far Side.
As I contemplate my existence, I appreciate Larson's philosophical views:
I'll drink to that.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)