D.C.'s World War I Memorial

Many D.C. government types are up in arms about Congress's desire to turn our recently restored World War I Memorial into a national one. Outcries to leave it alone -- it belongs to D.C. are misguided.

This could be a huge opportunity. Instead of another trouncing on our rights by members of Congress, this could be the stimulus we need to enlighten the average American to the fact that we have no voice in Congress. Think about it:

D.C. residents, who couldn't even vote for a local government, much less a national government, volunteered to serve that very same government. So many had their lives taken by disease and bullets in foreign lands. To have willingly sacrificed for a government that didn't recognize their citizenship as equal to every other American's smells of racism. I would go so far as to say it is like southern history textbooks claiming that slaves willingly served in the Confederate army!

Our elegant, dignified, tasteful little monument could be a centerpiece for an enlarged memorial. Stories about D.C. residents who fought, suffered and died for a government that did not fully recognize them (and still doesn't) could open eyes to a shameful truth.

It still shocks me when I hear how many people outside of this region don't know about the way D.C. residents are treated and mistreated by Congress. Some think that, living here, we have an unfair advantage. HA! They think every American can gripe to their senators and representatives to complain about anything and everything. More than half a million American citizens have one, non-voting delegate in Congress. Period.

Having said all that, I do not think D.C. should become a state. I know: that's heresy for some, but hear me out.

The District of Columbia is a unique territory. I believe that when founding fathers suggested designating it that way that they thought it would encompass nothing more than the federal enclave. Actual residents, other than slaves, and not associated with running the government, didn't enter their thinking. After all, members of Congress came to town infrequently and brought their own retinues of servants and slaves.

It is taking far too long to make needed changes in the governing dynamics of the District of Columbia. The U.S. Constitution needs to be amended, as it has been several times, to reflect new realities. One U.S. Senator and House representation according to the population formula is fair and way past due. Anything that can enlighten others about this injustice can only help. So. . .

Bring on the World War I Memorial additions AND be sure to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth about D.C. residents' peculiar standing and the extraordinary sacrifices of our forefathers.

A Taste of Summer

As usual, Spouse and I did our grocery shopping on Saturday.  It really felt like winter because the previously warmish temps we'd been having were down into the 30s with a wind.

The first section we enter is produce.  We spend an inordinate amount of time there enjoying the colors and scents of fresh produce as we try to buy out the department.  This, time however, before we could get past the store's floral section, a bunch of yellow and peach colored roses shouted out to me.  Normally, I wouldn't be so weak-willed to splurge on something that will last only a few days, but something was different that Saturday.  Maybe they needed rescuing from their cooler; I don't know.  I just knew that I needed them as much as they needed me.

We continued picking and bagging our usual choices when, to my wondering eyes, I saw the produce guy loading a shelf with those absurdly expensive tiny, half-pints of fresh red raspberries.  Something snapped in my brain and I thought "to hell with the price, I must have raspberries!"  Spouse, half smiling, made a face like I was out of my mind, but into the cart I gently placed those "berries from the gods."

It was time for lunch when we returned home, so Spouse ate his beloved steamed broccoli, tomato and whole wheat toast.  I carefully opened the plastic box, gently plucked up a plump, red berry and placed it into my mouth.  The fragrance as it rose to my lips took my breath away and the feel of its sweet, round nodules against my tongue was sensuous.  When I finally released the juices from its plump, ruby red body by pressing it to the roof of my mouth with my tongue . . . . .  well, it was a taste orgy bursting with the pleasure of summer.  My raspberry lunch lasted a satisfyingly long time.

It is now Monday evening and the memory of this is still wondrously fresh.  I think every woman deserves to indulge in a little lascivious snacking during winter.  Don't you??

Still unbelievable after 30 years

We are enjoying a lovely, sunny day after a cold, raining one yesterday.  Not bad for a Friday the 13th.

Then I read the newspaper.

Thirty years ago, today, Air Florida flight 90 crashed into the 14th street bridge and the Potomac River.  Only five passengers and one crew member survived.  Others died in their cars on the bridge where they had been stuck in heavy, snow-slowed traffic.  The river was iced over which turned out to be a mixed blessing.  Survivors clung to pieces of debris and ice as an incredibly courageous U.S. Park Service helicopter crew flew dangerously close to the water to pluck them out.  An average guy, soon to be much heralded hero, Lenny Skutnik saw what was happening, scrambled from his truck, also stuck in traffic.  Unlike other observers, he lept into the frigid water to rescue a woman who was clearly in shock and would have drowned within moments.

We didn't learn all these details until much later.

I was working for a nonprofit women's organization at 17th and N Streets and walked to the restaurant where my then boyfriend was working at 21st and L.  Most everyone was caught off-guard by the quick accummulation of snow, so many of us were without boots.

When I staggered into the bar, people were blathering about a plane hitting the bridge and a Metro train crash.  I didn't believe any of it.  I'd been walking through a blizzard, in high heels across town in the tracks made by the few cars on the streets while all of was happening.

Spouse and I hung out in the restaurant until his shift was over then walked the 3/4 mile home.  Television stations replayed tape caught, by chance, by a TV news crew also stuck in traffic.  Tears still come to my eyes remembering that woman's face as she blindly tried to swim away from the crash.  Her eyes were huge with shock, but her determination kept her going until Lenny grabbed her a brought her to shore.

Thirty years later, I am very surprised that I can still feel the gut-twisting shock and disbelief of that day.  Makes me realize just how very lucky I am.

Wuzzup?!

Some diabolical being has taken hold of my blog!

Or it was a stupid mistake by yours truly.  More likely that's what happened when I tried to change something on its set-up.  Now, I can't get it back to normal.  It's dangerous when y'know just enough about computers to get yourself in trouble, but not out of it. . ..*sigh*  I'm tryin'.

First Snow

Calm After the Calm(?)

Here's part of the sunrise that followed last evenings lovely sunset. [The tiny, dark blip between the bare tree branches to the left is the statue on top of the Capitol.] Of course, the big obelisk is the Washington Monument.

It was an unusually quiet evening and night and the Old Naval Observatory across the street was nearly invisible in total darkness. Then I noticed that I didn't hear any planes flying into or out of National. Strange.

I wondered if it had anything to do with what Spouse learned from chatting with airline pilots at Gravelly Point (a pubic park close to the north end of the main runway). Pilots use the telescope dome on the observatory as a landmark when they're heading down the Potomac, into the airport.

Usually the American Flag is lit at night and soft globe lights circle a lawn in front of the building. Security lights add a glare, but overall, it's a pretty sight at night.

There was nothing in this morning's newpaper about a blackout either there or at the airport, so maybe my imagination got the best of me. Sometime during the night power was restored and all seems to be well with the world -- again.

Lovely End to a Lovely Day

Today brought welcome warmth and sunshine. Trees along Canal Road are beautiful even without their leaves. The twisting and fast Potomac is clearly visible. Curious deer hang out on the woody side of the road, a safe distance from speeding cars.

Walkers and bikers enjoyed the canal tow path. Serious bike-racers cranked away, impeding impatient drivers on the shoulderless, two-lane roadway. Not a totally terrible thing on such a gorgeous day. It was worth slowing down to enjoy the view!

Why the Scowl?

Why do so many celebrities look like they want to smash the camera and bite off the head of the photographer? What has happened to wanting to look pretty? This woman lives in a huge, hideously baroque penthouse where I'm pretty sure she never lifts a finger to cook or clean and can afford to have her nails done every week. I'm thinking the only conflict she has is trying to decide whether to wear diamonds, rubys, emeralds, sapphires or pearls. What kind of hardship could she possibly experience to look so angry? Do you think it might be because she's married to The Donald . . ...?

Nudity in the Nation's Capitol

A couple of years ago a brand new Congressman came to town with his family to assume his seat in the House of Representatives. Not long after arriving, he stated how horrified he was by all the naked statuary in the city. He was appalled that his young children and those of other, God-fearing Americans were exposed to such indecency. Christmas day, driving home from my mother's in Southern Maryland, we got caught up in heavy traffic on Constitution Avenue. Glancing up through our sunroof, this is what I beheld. Shocking!!

(click on the picture to get a better view)

Nude men -- and -- women -- together -- with -- their -- privates -- exposed!! Not only that, but they were carved in stone -- on the front of -- a government building!!! Thank goodness they are high enough off the ground that innocent children's eyes cannot behold such subversive matter. Why, there is not even one fig leaf to provide a modicum of modesty! Whatever shall we do?! This sort of thing is to be expected in Rome or Athens, but in Washington, D.C. . . .?!!! ;-}

Something Special

Last evening I finished reading a book that struck every emotional chord I have and even some I didn't know I had. The Old Mermaid's Tale, by Kathleen Valentine will join my collection of books I know I will reread more than once.

Clair Wagner is the central character in this early 1960s story that plays out into the 1980s. She is a product of her Ohio farm upbringing: sweet, innocent yet outrageously curious and fearless. She can hardly wait to leave her boring, land-locked home for college on the shore of Lake Erie.

The Great Lakes hold many mysteries and inspire superstitions that started with the earliest inhabitants: Native Americans. Many hundreds of ships have gone down in The Lakes leaving haunting, painful legacies. The SS Edmund Fitzgerald was supposedly strong enough to withstand anything the lakes could throw at it, but it, too ended up on the bottom of Lake Superior.

With Lake Erie a firmly, and strongly established part of the story, the author takes her reader into the world of fisherman, sailors and those who love and worry about them. With the opening of the St. Lawrence Seaway, ships from around the world now had access to ports in the Great Lakes. Clair is swept into this world not kicking and screaming but with her eyes and arms wide open to whatever adventures it might offer.

Ms Valentine does such a beautiful job of character and situation development that the novel seems more like a biography. It flows naturally and yet still surprises and enlightens. In truth, I am still moved to the point that I need time to process this story; something I haven't felt since reading Cutting for Stone.

Having grown up on the shores of one of Erie's sisters, Lake Michigan, I GET the fascination with and craving to live on the water. I've never sailed on any of the lakes though I have enjoyed day sails on the Chesapeake Bay. I confess that I feel a little intimidated at the idea of going out in anything smaller than an air craft carrier on one of the Great Lakes. Come to think of it, that could be scary, too.

Summers of my youth were spent hanging out at the beach. I remember looking out across the water and watching a training ship from Great Lakes Naval Station, just north of us, being engulfed by black, lightning-streaked storm clouds. My friends and I watched for what seemed a very long time until it reappeared on the other side. Then, the rains started pelting us and lightning strikes became a little too close, so we headed for home.

I do believe that my fascination with this book is not just because of my love for The Lakes. It is a beautifully written love story set in a dangerously beautiful setting during a tumultuous time in American history. It won't surprise me a bit if The Old Mermaid's Tale soon tops best seller lists. It really IS that special!

"Saliva Salutes"

The day after Christmas can be a letdown, but while reading a piece in yesterday's "Washington Post" I no longer have post-Christmas Blues. Maura Judkis wrote a hilarious account of stage actors and their problems making themselves heard in the back rows while controlling slobber. Apparently, it is quite an honor for a lesser actor to be spat upon by a more famous actor. Some of the stories had me choking with laughter. Hope you will enjoy the story, too! Actors drooling over each other’s parts - The Washington Post

A Christmas Surprise

This tender, young thing was blossoming outside Mom's cottage today. Several more pretty pink roses seemed determined to survive indefinitely. They were a lovely surprise on Christmas morning.

A Christmas Fantasy

When I was in grade school, music was an integral part of our curriculum. Come Christmas season, we started rehearsing carols and making decorations for our classrooms, hallways and to take home. Construction paper knew no religion and "Merry Christmas" had not yet been politically corrected to "Happy Holidays."

The first time I saw the cover of a songbook our music teacher handed out, I was smitten with the idea of "the good ole days" and the ways Christmas once was celebrated. The jolly smiles on every face, elegant looking Victorian clothing [despite the 1940s hairstyles] and snow blanketed village made me long to live there and then. There was not one sign of slush, dirty chimney smoke, no broken tree limbs lying across sparking wires or cars waiting to be freed from their driveways. The rosy cheeks, colorful hats, scarves and mittens of carolers made the scene feel altogether cozy.

Homeowners, standing on their the cold front porch with their front door wide open, are clearly hosting a party. The grinning carolers sing out while, from within, the warm light from candles and a fire place beckons. As the family welcomes guests into their home, a horse-drawn carriage delivers another. Of course, the horse wears a collar of silvery, jingling bells.

For years that songbook was a fixture on my family's piano. I noted autoharp and guitar chords in it as I took up each instrument. When I finally bought a keyboard after moving out on my own, that book immediately came out of the guitar case and has resided on the keyboard ever since. Having been handled by younger siblings and me, it had taken quite a beating. The cover had come off, but somehow remained with the rest of the book.

Years later and to my great joy, I was loaned a copy of the same book during an event of a women's group I belonged to. The school music teacher who had brought them, gave me information so that I could order a new copy. I ordered enough to give copies to my siblings and Mom, since we had all enjoyed it. The cover and contents were exactly the same as I remembered, but the price had more than doubled in 50 years.

For many years I worked for an organization that "got into my blood." It was known for its impartiality and humanitarian efforts. Embracing the principle of neutrality as I worked with people from around the world and of numerous religious and cultural backgrounds, I neglected Christmas.

Growing older and not having children also influenced my lack of enthusiasm for the old traditions. Digging out this songbook and playing familiar songs is causing me to lose my neutral feelings about the holiday and inspiring a refreshed Christmas Spirit. I've decided not to hold back, so:

Merry Christmas!

Oh, to be a fly on the wall!

Christopher Hitchens died just in time to cross other-worldly paths with the secretive, odd North Korean dictator, Kim Jong Il. I'd love to witness the fireworks!! Maybe they're sharing a bottle of Kim's favorite cognac -- they both loved booze.

In addition to having a quick, brilliant mind and sharp tongue, Hitchens made as many enemies as he did friends. He used words like boxing gloves. I didn't always agree with his opinions, but he certainly put great effort and thought into expressing them.

He was a devout agnostic, passionate about his beliefs and not the least bit shy about taking on equally rigid religious fanatics. I admired his fighting spirit against huge odds.

Numerous tributes to Christopher Hitchens prove that he had a heart as well as a poison pen. I'm thinking that, privately, his enemies will miss him as much as his friends.

Bottoms Up, Hitch -- wherever you are!

P.S. I just discovered that I was born on the same day as Hitch, but I haven't decided whether or not I'm proud of that coincidence.