It had been several years since I had seen my mother and I was seriously delinquent. Big time overdue. You are issued one mother in your life time and they require proper care and maintenance. I sensed the opportunity to rectify my filial obligations with the recent sale of a fragile object that required personal delivery to the east coast. Stone two birds with one kill.
I left early sunday morning (read 4:00 a.m.) for our nation's capitol, stopping briefly in Houston. Houston is one of my least favorite cities and is located in one of my least favorite states, Texas. I stopped in front of the George Bush Sr. rotunda and snapped a picture of the great leader somewhat tastefully rendered in bronze, complete with ivy league cardigan draped over a shoulder.
The rest of my Houston airport experience was rather mundane, I did notice an industrial strength Proactiv™ kiosk, can acne be so miserable in this part of the country that measures of this magnitude are indeed necessary?
Not much else to report about the airport. I was hungry and was searching around for a bite and after considering $11.00 street tacos, which would have been more appropriate had the street been named Rodeo Dr., settled on barbecue from a place called
Real Food. Tasted like a cinnamon rub, after a few bites the awful plate went straight into the trash.
First airport I have seen with its own Fox News outlet.
***
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| Ceiling, Grand Hyatt |
I landed in Washington D.C., rented my car and gps'd my way to the Grand Hyatt, passing through the cool Chinatown arch on H Street. The hotel was beautiful and ideally situated and I decided to get some picture taking and sightseeing in for the balance of my evening.
I walked down to Freedom Square and watched some hardcore D.C. area skateboarders doing their thing. It was really warm and sticky and there were a lot of folks outside. I think that the woman in red actually lived outside.
I made my way past the recently cracked Washington Monument on the route to my favorite memorials, the Lincoln and Jefferson. I passed the World War II, Korean, FDR and various other monuments and statues and made my way to the new Martin Luther King. It was twilight and I thought it was fantastic. The sense of pride I felt from the african americans gathered around the bust of King was tremendous. A great neighbor to Jefferson and one of the more contemporary hero's of America, I felt a lot of personal pride and happiness in seeing the tribute to the fallen civil rights leader.
After the King I walked around the lake and visited my favorite politician's edifice, Jefferson. It was lit so beautifully. I took some shots and finally found a cab back to the hotel, having severe shin splints by this time that still hurt. I logged serious miles in the capitol city.
***
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| The Shame |
I went to Cure, the restaurant at the Hyatt and ordered a BLT and some potato wedges cooked in duck fat. The potatoes were awesome, the blt less so. It was a slab of the oh so trendy pork belly on a piece of toast with a cloyingly sweet tomato sauce. Some soggy greens. Should have used a little mayo and garlic, the dish was a serious fail in my book.
***
The next day I walked back past the mall and over to the Capitol, seeking morning light. It was calm and I was practically alone. A tourist quickly rode by me on bicycle, at least he looked like a tourist until I spotted the little wire device in his ear as he checked me out. Big police presence in these days before the 9/11 anniversary.
I drove to Maryland and concluded my business then drove to Virginia to see my older sister Liz. Liz is a very smart person who works for an anonymous alphabet subsidiary of the government. She is a master knitter and wool spinner who lives with a husband into technology and robotics and their bengal cat. She showed me how to spin wool and her specialty of knitting lace.
Liz is responsible for turning me on to several of the passions in my life, science fiction and the Jefferson Airplane being two of the ones I feel comfortable mentioning.
***
I drove up to Ellicot City, Maryland to see my mom who now lives in a home for seniors. She had been in a rather remote section of the Poconos for the last thirty years or so and life was too hard for her on her own after the death of her husband, Murray.
Ellicot City is an old quaker mill town, the site of the oldest remaining railroad station in the United States, and situated on the Cumberland or National Road, built in 1806, the first major road built west of Baltimore.
I had a cup of joe and a fritter at a neighborhood stop and antiqued a bit up the old steep and narrow streets. This is the old Thomas Isaac log cabin, built in 1780 and now situated near the center of town.
***
Driving up through Northern and Virginia and Maryland was quite interesting. The roads are very poorly engineered. They do not quite have the concept of super-elevations and crowns down and water pooled heavily in the rain. I drove past the George Bush Center for Intelligence and Langley and all sorts of other places that I had read about in spy novels. Howard County is one of the wealthiest counties in the country but what exactly do these people do? I saw lots of stores that cater to foreign speaking individuals and something about the whole set up was gnawing at my brain.
The answer of course is intelligence. I was right in the belly of the beast, the breadbasket of spydom and intelligence gathering. I asked the innkeeper in Jessup what people did for work and he said," Well, the NSA is just around the corner." I thought about the announcement I was sure that I had heard at the Houston Airport -
Intemperate thoughts are forbidden and will be prosecuted.
Hopefully their reach is not quite so extended yet.
***
I spent two days with mom, now nursing breaks to both legs from an unfortunate fall down an escalator. I met Jessica, one of the twins that acts as a surrogate daughter to my mother and has helped take care of her for many years. My mom has recently moved to Maryland, having spent thirty cold winters in a remote locale in Pennsylvania and just couldn't take care of herself properly anymore. Happens to the best of us. Glad she found a cool spot to roost.
The home was nice, she is happy, googly eyeing the men and alienating a couple of the women. We had a formal sit down dinner in the main hall, the food was better than expected and I watched my mom voraciously dig into the fruit cup. She was very happy to see me and it was nice to see her, she looked great but needs a wheelchair to get around during her rehabilitation.
My mom is an ex teacher, writer and high powered editor. She worked for ICM and was the rock band Kiss's first agent. Very intelligent but keeps me on guard to a certain degree. We share more in common than we probably care to admit, both having an almost obsessive need to stay emotionally connected to the people we care about.
***
I traveled back to D.C. in a light rain. I passed some cities and places with interesting names, I would have to research them later.
Village of the King's Contrivance, Roaches Run. I thought that the King's Contrivance had to be 17th century but it turns out to be adopted from the name of a local restaurant. The street names of nearby Huntington are derived from the works of Carl Sandburg and those of Macgill's Common come from the Folksongs of North America compilation recorded by Alan Lomax. Dickinson, to the west, is named after Emily Dickinson.
In the anti intellectual west, I could never imagine towns being named after poems or poets. Very nice. We tend to name our towns and neighborhoods after spanish saints, tuscan villages or whatever wine or bubbly is popular at the moment.
The other thing that always strikes me about the east is the great trees. So much forested area, quite a contrast to the densely compressed west. I made my way to Blagdon Avenue and near the Rock Creek park and marveled at the huge elms, ashes and maples. I passed the Congolese Embassy and wondered if the poor inhabitants of the mother country had any idea how their diplomats lived and how much wealth had been pilfered.
***
I checked into the Hilton at Dupont Circle, a hotel where I had experienced one of life's bottoms about 33 years prior. Dupont Circle is now a very hip and vibrant place and I went out for a long walk. I found an empanada restaurant and downed a couple and bought a book at a used bookstore,
Dig Infinity, a biography of Lord Buckley by Oliver Trager. I have always been fascinated by Buckley and an interesting man I had met in a former lifetime, Steven Ben Israel, was quoted in the book. To my surprise it had a handwritten dedication on the fly to Dick Gregory.
I was hunting for a place to have a drink but ended up passing when it started to rain. I ducked in front of a Portuguese restaurant that specialized in chicken in a peri peri spice, something new to me that looked good and that I hope to try one day.
I was walking slightly in front of three young professional women and caught a snippet of conversation that I mentally filed away for the blog,"I can't wear pants to work because my mother says only lesbians wear pants to work." I stifled a chuckle.
I, being on the far side of fifty, was musing on my decided lack of hipness. I thought back to Helen's poem, the part about being invisible. Where once was a cute, hip guy with a bit of social cachet now stands a graying old man with a paunch who has no standing and can't even text properly. Who abhors
lol and emoticons and the diminution of a once great language. I saw a shirt on the trip where militia was now spelled mulisha and cringed in distaste. I watched a television show in the hotel,
Shedding for the wedding where people made jackasses of themselves grossly prostituting themselves for a free wedding and came to the conclusion that I was indeed living in the wrong epoch.
Of course, my long hair, blue jeans, sneakers and t-shirt are about as far off the hip chart as you can wander. I felt rather embarrassed at my slovenly state while walking with these well dressed, young movers and shakers. I remember laughing at the radio station back east when the announcer mentioned that before there was a microchip there was a microdot,
whatever that means...
I made my way back to the hotel in an ever increasing rain and had my drink at the hotel bar, a very expensive greyhound with a little dish full of chex-mix. There is so much to explore in the District and I hope to return with my wife some day soon. It is my favorite walking city in the country, being an ardent lover of french architecture.
***
Washington D.C. has just won the dubious distinction of being the most likely city (or district) in the country to have an auto accident, for the second year in a row. Their drivers are legendary for their ineptitude. I can see why. The traffic circles are poorly thought out, power intoxication is not a good auger for driver competence and they are the most petulant and impatient drivers I have ever witnessed. Honk in a millisecond. Not the most sadistic, that would be Boston drivers, where they actually go out of their way to try and run you down, merely the worst.
***
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| Interior view, Museum of the American Indian |
The next day I checked out and drove the rent a car down and parked near the west side of the White House on 7th. The sky was so clear but it was so humid that my glasses instantly fogged up upon leaving the vehicle. I walked over to the Smithsonian Air and Space and then visited the new Museum of the American Indian. A beautiful museum but hardly anything on exhibit. The staff member I talked to said that less than 1% of the holdings were on display. I quickly left, the items on display largely being contemporary.
I sauntered over to the United States Botanic Garden, always one of my favorite places to visit in Washington. I love architectural details and embellishments and the Capitol if full of great ones. These are some of the heads festooned on the ledge of the Botanic Garden.
Washington has a lot of nice gardens. I have pictures of the Obamas' vegetable garden and a very rustic amaranth and corn garden in front of the Agricultural Department done in the three sisters formation of North Dakota's Hidatsa tribe.
***
I was in the botanic garden taking macro shots of flowers when the sky opened up and all hell broke loose. Tropical Storm Lee had arrived in full epic pageantry. I waited a few minutes for the sky not to clear and jumped into the fray. I had about eight blocks to walk and no cover. I got completely soaked. I had traveled back east with a daypack and everything was now pretty much soaked. I threw my shirt in a trashcan and stuck the least wet and smelly one on from my pack. My shoes, socks and pants were wringing wet.
I had cut it too close and would have to hustle to make my flight to Dallas. But I needed to fill the car with gas. I gps'd to the airport in the downpour but couldn't find a gas station anywhere and kept looping by the Pentagon. A security man stood under a bridge and took pictures of me going by. I was stuck in an endless loop, full of fear and loathing, the Grateful Dead's song
Lost Sailor playing now on the radio and reverberating through my soul.
I would never get out. I took a deep breath and finally got my bearings and headed back on fourteenth hoping to find a gas station in the city. Finally miles up I found a cash only station ran by ethiopians. I filled up and dashed back, only to find that most of the flights were now delayed or cancelled due to the storm. I finally left about three hours later, just made my Dallas connection and found my way back to the southern california heat and heap big power outage.
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Early morning trash run, Capitol.
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