We all scream

Apparently you can make a living selling boutique cookies, ice cream and milk via a food truck. Well, why not—this is America.

What struck me about this was the juxtaposition of the cookie-and-ice-cream truck parked illegally in a snow bank on the Hill They Call Capitol at 0730. So many stories could come from that construct.

Trafficking

Yesterday I looked out the window of my office and watched as a largish truck that had got stuck in the snow along the sidewalk on New York Avenue tried to get out.

If you’ve ever had that experience—thinking there’s enough pavement for you to safely negotiate the snow and then discovering that you were wrong—you’ll know what it was like. The driver did that reverse (spinning the wheels) and then forward maneuver; just a little bit more impetus than rocking, but never quite getting out.

I watched as another guy in a smaller truck parked his vehicle in the right-hand lane about ten yards behind, putting on his emergency lights, to give the truck enough room to back out. And I watched as car after car pulled around the van on the left and gunned it forward, even when “forward” consisted of the stoplight about 30 yards ahead. And each of them taking up that lane meant that the truck couldn’t back up safely, even if it could get traction.

I mean—it’s not as though they were making any difference in their journey by jerking out and blocking the lane.

Finally, the van driver got out and stood in the street to give the truck driver some guidance and basically force traffic to stop and wait. That went on for about 60 or 90 seconds, when finally the truck got past the snow bank and drove off. The van driver got back into his vehicle and eventually drove away, too.

I realize that I’ve been those car drivers—too impatient to wait for hold-ups, especially in bad weather when I just know that all the other people on the road are idiots. But as I sat and watched the one guy help out another (even though I though he was standing uncomfortably close to a very large vehicle that clearly was not under full human control and that could slew off in any direction), while everyone else acted like jerks, I thought to myself, “Self—get yourself in hand and be more like that van guy.”

How things run

My office was officially closed again yesterday—Metro still not fully functioning and lots and lots of people barricaded behind snow drifts several feet high with no sign of snow ploughs.

But my way was clear, and besides—the physical therapy place had an appointment open up, so I went in.

And here’s what I noticed:

The “office workers” might have been off (or even working from home), but the people who make the office work were on the job.

Trash had been emptied and the toilets were cleaned in the loo. The carpets were vacuumed and everything clean.

There had also been window washing scheduled for yesterday, and blow me if the inside washers didn’t swing round about 0930 and clean the windows. Just like they were supposed to do.

Moreover, people like to slag off Metro, but as far as I’m concerned, those men and women are tops. Under trying circumstances they had things running for the past two days—not at full strength, but still. Getting people to work, to medical appointments, to grocery stores, to wherever they needed to go…mostly.

And I know that ploughs haven’t made it to a number of areas in the DMV, but think about all those road crews who’ve been working full bore to clear hundreds of miles of streets, highways, parking lots and other surfaces since Friday night.

So, on Hump Day after Snowzilla—here’s to the people who make our lives work, even when we don’t notice them. Perhaps even especially when we don’t notice them.

Not quite the day after

Evidently large swathes of the DMV area remained under 30 inches of snow yesterday, so the Federal government remained closed. Metro only ran limited service of three lines on the underground portions, so instead of, for instance the Orange Line running from Vienna, Va., to New Carrolton, Md., it went from Ballston, Va., to Eastern Market in the District.

Since my commute was within those parameters, I went in to work, but I was apparently the only one, aside from the building guard. My employer follows the Feds, so the office was officially closed.

Frankly, I went in because I had an appointment in the afternoon with a physical therapy practice, which I very much need. (On a scale of 1 to 10, with 10 being “shoot me”, I’ve been looking at 9.0 in the receding distance of my rear-view mirror for more than a month.) This appointment was the earliest I could get as of two weeks ago, so I needed it.

But of course they closed their office, too. I hope to God I don’t have to wait another two weeks, because I’ll just commit ritual seppuku in their entry way if so.

Anyhow, if Friday was a bit of a ghost town at work, yesterday I may have had the building to myself. I certainly was the only one on my floor. That’s kind of spooky, especially if you know it’s “regular” work hours, and not—say—2200 on a Saturday.

Well, a couple of things about yesterday:

This was my view on the way to the station; nice, no?

Metro’s limited service was free, so it was worth riding just for that alone. I made a point of entering through the exit styles—that was me raging against the Man.

It was a bit of a crapshoot, because at least in the morning they were running on a single track between stations. Here’s a very, very, very long train “sheltering in place” at the Capitol South station at 0730:

It was a bit of an adventure crossing streets in downtown D.C. They’d only cut pathways through the banked snow along the east-west crosswalks, not the north-south ones, so you had to walk into the street to cross going north.

I’m really glad that the Dunkin’ Donuts staff didn’t follow the Feds, as that’s one of two morning possibilities for coffee. I splurged on a large coffee instead of my usual medium. (My employer does not provide coffee, which strikes me as slightly un-American, but I’m coping.)

It was hard not to fixate on traffic on New York Avenue—so fascinating watching vehicles navigate what’s normally quite the wide boulevard.

On my way out of the Capitol South station in the afternoon, I did my good deed as I saw a couple trying to figure out the fare card machine. They had rolling suitcases with them, so I’m thinking they were not locals. I interrupted the process, calling out, “Hello? Metro’s free today.” The looks on their faces as the man jerked his $20 bill from the machine was just priceless. I totally made their day.

And here’s my final street sight for the day next to the eatery on the corner:

Gratitude Monday: Weathering the storm

You may be aware that there’s been a snow event in the eastern part of the country. The weather guessers in the DC-Maryland-Virginia (DMV) area gave it the name Snowzilla, with expectations in excess of two feet of snow, starting on Friday, and winds upwards of 50 MPH. Not a trivial forecast.

Given that a much lighter snowfall on Wednesday night caused a complete breakdown in civilization (because the DMV authorities did nothing to treat highways beforehand, and were limited as to what they could do afterwards on account of all the stalled and abandoned cars), they screwed their courage to the sticking place and pretty much told everyone to go home before the snow started and then stay there, because all public transportation shut down.

Well, my employer follows the Federal government, which announced a half-day for Friday, although you could take admin leave or work from home. Let me just say that you could have held World War III there on Friday, and no one would have been hurt. There were five people on my floor, total.

One of my four hardy colleagues was worried about power staying on at his Chevy Chase house—a very well-to-do suburb. Blizzards are great levelers; during Snowmageddon a couple of years ago, he and his family ended up going to a hotel because of power loss. He can’t do it this time because they now have a dog.

I was a little concerned about power myself, because DC is famous for sending hundreds of thousands into darkness at the first hint of any kind of weather event. But as it happens, I spent the weekend in warmth and light, one of the things for which I am grateful today.

Here are some more:

My commute both to and from work was uneventful. Metro workers were on the job.

It was a little hairy walking to and from the Metro stations in the afternoon, because it had been snowing for about 90 minutes and the wind was pretty fierce. 

But once I was home, it was lovely to look at the snow knowing I didn’t have to deal with it (i.e., shovel it).

By Saturday, some of the drifts were up past my knees when I went out for a walk. One of my neighbors had initially begun clearing snow with a tennis racquet—he said that he’d been working every night last week until 0100, so hadn’t been able to get out to buy a shovel.

According to him, the racquet did an okay job, but then he noticed someone else seemed to have an extra shovel, so he borrowed it. Good thing, because he has a corner house.

Another thing I’m grateful for: not having to shovel twice the sidewalks of a corner house.

There was some road clearing going on up around the Congressional buildings—I got rather a kick out of this tiny Bobcat whizzing about. It was small, but it was doing the job.

On Pennsylvania Avenue there were people on snowshoes and a man pulling a plastic sled with three small children on it.

(About 50 yards up the road he stopped, took a phone call, and then had the kids get out and walk. I guess enough is enough.)

It was interesting to me that the Chinese restaurant was open and had cleared the sidewalk in front.

Ditto the Firehook Bakery. (On Sunday one of the FB baristas told me that they'd spent the weekend at the Capitol Hill Hotel around the corner; I guess that's a good blizzard strategy.) Starbucks was also open, but they only cleared their doorstep, not the sidewalk. 

One of the things that made me happiest on my walk was seeing the complete joy of a flock of birds chowing down at a feeder in someone’s front yard.

Despite the forecast of snow throughout the weekend, by Sunday morning it had stopped. Clear sky and sunshine.

Saturday:

Sunday:

I’m hoping that by next weekend I’ll be able to get my car out from under the snow to continue house hunting. But in the meantime, Metro resumed service this morning, so I can get to and from work.

And I’m grateful that I made it through the storm with nothing but a sense of inconvenience.

Fundraising for art

One of the rooms I visited in the National Gallery on Monday had as a focal point what’s referred to in British garden improvement shows as a “water feature”. This one is called “Venus and Cupid”; I forget who sculpted it.

In addition to the usual spitting fish, at the goddess’s feet, this one had an interesting element: water drips from the hair that Venus is wringing, onto a dish held by Cupid, and then splashes into the pool below.

But here’s the thing that stumps me every single time I encounter it: the pool is completely lined with coins. I mean—look at it:

What is it with people and contained bodies of water that they feel obliged to toss money into it? In the few minutes I was in the room three sets of parents gave their offspring coins to throw into the pool.

I mean, I’m sure that every little bit helps the budget of the National Gallery, but this is one practice I just do not get.

Form and function

Not too far away from the wide-rimmed bowl that featured one of the approximately twelve bazillion rapes of Greek mythology, there’s a case with three more Italian Renaissance pots.

Well, two “drug jars” and a plate. By someone called Orazio Pompeii, about whom I can find no information at all.

I was vastly impressed by the size of the drug jars—at least 15 inches high. I mean—that’s pretty much the Costco-size medication container, and I wonder what drug you could get in that quantity?

Back then, I mean.

Also, I thought it very interesting that the illustration on one of them was of Cleopatra’s final dose:

Is that an invitation or a discouraging function, do you think?

But then there was the plate, which was only described as “an allegorical subject”. (Sorry about the light glare.)

I’ll have to go back and see if I can copy down the Latin inscription and get a translation. But my first thought was, “I’ll be blowed if I can figure out what, exactly, allegory this represents.”

But I’d purely like to find out.

P.S. Okay, the “drug jars” are apparently apothecary jars, so not for personal use. Unless you were extra-special friends of the druggist, I suppose.

Food service for the gods

On my flying visit to the National Gallery of Art on Monday I wandered into a room with Renaissance porcelain stuff.

(Sorry, but when I think of old dishware, I can’t help but recall one of George Carlin’s early routines about Congolia Breckinridge, the hapless daytime TV game show contestant who’s given the question category of Ancient Chinese Pottery and is stumped by the question, “How many ancient Chinese pots in a dozen?” Yes, I’m a Philistine.)

Well here’s a quasi-ancient Italian dish that completely stumped me: Francesco Avelli’s broad-rimmed bowl with Neptune raping Theophane; arms of Pucci with an ‘ombrellino’”, of 1532. (The “ombrellino” is the canopy; I had to look it up.)

Because of course you want to eat your linguine and scallops from a bowl with a picture of a god raping…well, anyone, right?

Especially if it’s got a designer’s family coat of arms on it. You can tell that branding has been around for a long time.

(I’m not going to be much help in explicating the Neptune and Theophane thing. It’s the usual maiden-too-beautiful-for-her-own-good-drives-the-gods-to-pursue-her thing, only I kind of lost interest when they started transmogrifying into sheep and rams.)

Not night at the museum

There’s an old joke that Iowans tell: What’s the difference between Minnesota and yoghurt?

Yoghurt has culture.

Okay, with the rim shot out of the way, yesterday I decided I needed more culture than I could get from a bowl of Greek yoghurt, so I headed for the National Mall. Because I live in the District They Call Columbia for the nonce, I left my place at 0930 and got to the Smithsonian Metro station at 0940. It was bitterly cold, so I had to keep moving at a good clip for that 20 minutes. And when that time was up I was in front of the National Gallery of Art, so that’s where I went.

It’s hard to describe how therapeutic that choice was. Of all the options—American history, natural history, air & space, Sackler, etc., the National Gallery was just exactly what I needed. I could only spend a couple of hours there, on account of massive back pain, but since I live here, it doesn’t matter. I can come back. But for yesterday, despite the pain, I felt lifted up and renewed by walking through just a few rooms.

 I didn’t bother with a museum map, because it’s not like I have to hit the “must-see” galleries on one trip; I could let serendipity decide my route. And serendipity delivered, because pretty much the first room I entered was full of Rodins—not the major, large-as-life pieces, but small and entirely accessible ones.

A couple of my favorites (on this pass; they might change the next time I go):

“The Evil Spirits”—I don’t know the story of this, what, exactly the forms represent, or why, but I just love the way Rodin entwines them.

“Sphinx”—I’ve never seen this mythical creature depicted in so benign a fashion. Not to mention without the lion’s body.

And how about "The Hand of God”?

From Rodin I wandered through a photography exhibit, which included some work by Richard Avedon. I hadn’t realized that he did anything besides fashion and celebrity photos, but there was a series of the great and the powerful he did in the run-up to the 1976 presidential election that was stunning, including this shot of one of my heroes, Texas Congresswoman Barbara Jordan. Look at her fierceness:

And this “panorama” of the US leaders, military and diplomatic, in Saigon in 1971, which he called “The Mission Council”. It’s actually multiple photos that he put together with intrinsic fragmentation (allegory for the effect the war was having on the country), centered on General Creighton Abrams, commander of MAC-V, and Ellsworth Bunker, Ambassador to Vietnam. Well, South Vietnam, as was.

And that’s what the museum experience is supposed to do, isn’t it—expand your sense as well as your sensibilities.

In case this is your limit of culture vulturism, I’ll save some of my other pix for later and close out today’s post with a shot of the walkway between the east and west wings of the National Gallery.

Next time I go, I may just walk back and forth along this twinkling passage for a couple of hours for my cultural experience. Beats yoghurt.

Gratitude Monday: Le bon weekend

Today I am grateful for three-day weekends. And for having a job that recognizes the boundaries between work and, you know, life. 

And therefore for being able to enjoy the time off.

That is all.