DC ramble

I don’t really mind the cold and damp. It’s not what I associate with DC, but at this time of the year, that kind of stuff happens. And the benefit is that it leads to a more relaxed approach to the day.

My daughter lives downtown and so the city sprawls in every direction right out her door. But we are stuck to a pattern. Almost always we choose to walk down to the White House, crossing in front of the WWII Memorial, toward the Basin with the cherries (budding now!) and along the Potomac to Georgetown.

Today, the rain never stopped, not for a minute. Undeterred, we huddled under her pink umbrella and followed this most splendid route.









Oh sure, fortified by grits and eggs before the hike and at the end, warmed by coffee (yes yes, tea for her) and cupcakes.











She is at work now. It never fully lets up for her. I am at her apartment soaking in her life in this space that is so quintessentially hers. We’ll head out to dinner soon and tomorrow before dawn, she is off to New York to do work there and, ironically, I am off to New York as well, though on a later train.

We’ll keep on being in each others space, but it wont be the same. She’ll be in one of those glass buildings with countless offices, I’ll be taking a train out of the city, searching for Ed and his truck somewhere not too far from the Hudson River Valley.

Have I mentioned how much I dislike putting distance between my daughters and myself?

snapshots

When you spend time with your adult kids, isn’t it natural that you should reflect on where they’re at and what role you played in the process of getting them there? And I don’t mean necessarily the benefits you conferred. It could be that you look at them and worry that maybe you'd been careless or obtuse or distracted, and thus, you missed a point or two along the way, so that now they fret too much or sleep too little and really, it's kind of your fault...

I don’t normally think of this much because I think it’s indulgent and perhaps without value. You’re done, parent, step aside. You were who you were and they are who they are and btw, aren’t they absolutely the best and it’s not much your doing anyway, so please, just step aside.

Still, snapshots of your adult kids, taken on these infrequent (by my standards) visits do make you think back to the day when you urged your kid be one way or another without really knowing or understanding if this was a good idea or a bad idea or good for them or bad for them.

…Leading you to wonder for the millionth time what it is that you wanted for your kids when they popped out and had just one hour under their belt.

Looking back, I remember my buzz thoughts then. I was, initially, most focused on instilling in them trust and fostering accomplishment (broadly defined). Over time, I worried more about their assertiveness and confidence (I have daughters, after all). In the end, I thought mostly about their health and happiness.



It was a cool and rainy day and so we postponed our hike in the hills of Virginia. Maybe tomorrow, maybe...

But, all retro thoughts on parenting not withstanding, it was a wonderful day. We ate our favorite brunch foods, we walked under my daughter’s wee umbrella, we looked at budding trees, and when it was too cold to do more outside, we went indoors and ate cupcakes and drank good coffee (tea in her case). After, we went to the movies. We finished the day at a noisy wonderful U Street bistro.




















But now I am home and she is sleeping and my other one is or should be sleeping as well and I wonder --- did I do enough to allow them to feel great about their space on this planet? Maybe. But really, who can tell.

from DC

I like to say that my oldest daughter lives down south. I have a mother in California and family scattered between Poland and Sweden and of course, my littlest girl in Boston, but no one who lives in a climate that I would call warm (by my standards). So when I say to myself – I’m heading south – I get a small thrill at the thought that I may have a few days of less brutal weather.

Of course, it’s iffy here in March. There was a lion quality to the air as we landed.






(No, I do not fly American, but don’t you think it’s fitting to post a photo of the Capitol and an airline that exudes the spirit of the place? Northwest, my airline of choice, would do better in a post on Seattle.)

Still, walking from the metro to my daughter's apartment, I felt vindicated. The cool weather is a mere accident. I’m south.

puff of cold air

If you had to wait at a bus stop this morning you would have prayed for a quick rescue. Damn cold. Never made it beyond some odd 20 degree figure.

On the bus ride in, I took a quick photo of the stacks at the edge of campus. They always look so dramatic when it’s cold.





A mad series of many hours without pause. In the end, it was my only photo of the day.

Tomorrow Spring Break begins. Two years ago I went to Italy for Spring Break. Last year, I went to Puerto Rico. This year? Deflated budget, inflated agenda: more daughter time! And then an extended few days out east with Ed and his pick-up truck.

Until then.

advice

You should move to my condo building. This is why:

[No, not because boosting the occupancy ratio will make it more probable that I will succeed in my refinancing effort. Not that. That would be self-serving and Ocean will not promote such crass efforts at improving its author’s own financial situation.]

But, as I shone all the lights at the condo yesterday during the bank-hired assessor’s visit, I noted that he was genuinely pleased to be here. As if my space, my wood choices, my tiles in the bathroom genuinely made his day better. So, I put quality of workmanship high on my list of reasons to buy here.

Then, remember my issues with the heater? Remember how many times I have come back from travels and found the heating unit straining to keep the place at my desired level of warmth (which, admittedly is befitting of a person accustomed to the tropics or, in the alternative, my alternative, of a person who has spent too many Decembers in dreary central Europe)? Well, the developers studied the problem with furrowed brows and expert guidance (mine, for example) and they have decided that I need a new and larger heating system. At their expense. At least, I am assuming it is at their expense. They recognize principles of fairness. They are good guys. Buy from them.

And finally, there is the matter of the athletic club on the ground floor. I’ll have you know that my ER doc earlier this week was very impressed with the size, shape and functioning of my arteries. That kind of compliment comes when you trot down to exercise every day. I think others do not trot to athletic clubs nearly as frequently. Stepping outside (in winter) to trot anywhere can make you reconsider. And here’s an interesting development: each new condo buyer will get a lifetime free membership to the club. Buy a condo and add years to your life. What a deal.

Oh, hey, I should also introduce you to Bruce, our concierge. He is there only half the day, but once building occupancy reaches near maximum levels, he’ll be there full time. Bruce is your go-to guy. And he signs for packages. And you can nudge him for gossip. He’s discreet, but you can try. He looks a little like Jeeves, so you can feel you’ve made it in life just by passing his desk every morning.

More? You need more reasons? Ah, hard to please reader. How about this: I’ve lived here for almost two years and the value of the place has not gone down! Is there any property left on the planet where value hasn’t shrunken (so that your biggest investment now has the sticker price of the half-finished writer’s shed on Ed’s property)? [At least I think this to be true. I’ll know for sure once the assessment comes in, but I said lots of nice things to the assessor and I am hoping I did not waste my breath.]

A small P.S. – someday the hole where Whole Foods was to go, just across the street to the north of us, will be filled. And in any case, you should buy a unit facing the south, because this is Wisconsin after all and the winters are long and cold. You will be in a good place in Madison. On virtually all major bus routes and city bike paths. Three groceries, one drugstore, one bookstore, all within a few short blocks. And you can walk, too, to this spot, when you’re sick of photographing the view outside your large patio door.




Too wintry-bleak for you? Well, me too, actually. I can gloat about my condo, but I can’t make trees sprout leaves or flowers bloom. My powers of persuasion are very limited.

[By example: when I am asked travel advice, which does happen, for no good reason, I admit - typically I write long, exhaustive notes on not-to-miss gems and strategies for making it the most perfect trip. When the person(s) returns from said trip, I get this: We’re back and we had a great time! We didn’t have a chance to eat or stay at the places you suggested and we never made it to any of the special nooks from your list, but still, you really helped us, so thanks!]

Boston to… Madison

Covered with wet snow. Buds, slapped down by a winter mix the next morning. Even Boston has to endure the reappearance of wintry stuff.





Early on Monday, I made my way home, to my Madison condo. But not without detours. On my walk to the T (which would take me to the bus, which would then take me to the airport), I happened to be chatting with my ever vigilant doctor (well, actually her rep) and she suggested that I might perhaps want to pay a quick visit to Mass General or some such place before boarding the plane for home.

Ridiculous. I told her that’s her opinion and now, please, may we disconnect, because I have several flights to catch.

Ocean isn’t really about my interaction with the medical community, but I’ll say this much: the world of emergency medical response is not new to me. Maybe because I was raised in post war Poland, maybe because I had a tough time making it past 4 months of life – for whatever reason, I have had more than an average share of such medical one-on-ones.

I assure you that I will signal imminent demise here (insofar as I know about it) and any other dire circumstance, but cataloguing my various medical curiosities is simply boring and there are plenty of domains within which I can be boring without bringing out the health card.

Still, upon landing in Madison, I found myself being escorted (by Ed) to the ER room and I have to say that if ever there is a reason to love your town it is when you are in love with the type of medical care that it offers to the privileged who have access to it (me) as well as to those who are scratching at the periphery of affordable health care.

I spent some seven hours in the ER room last night (why so long? Because, quite frankly, in any triage worth its weight in lives saved, I would be at the bottom of the heap). I was not what you would consider as “near death.” I was not even a broken limb. I was merely pursuing the recommendation of others. And so I waited for care.

Ed waited with me. Willingly. Our ER waiting facility has WiFi after all.

In the examining room (where we spent 5 out of the seven hours there), Ed and I watched cartoons (his choice) on his laptop, in between my being wheeled to one place or another and then back again.

It’s so Madison over at our ER room! Why do I say this? Well, by comparison, I am recalling the hours, nay, days I spent in a Harlem hospital as an undergrad. I was writing a paper about people in ER rooms and I have to say that I had enough material for a 24 volume series. Blood was commonplace.

And, I am no stranger to other ER situations. I lived through my very own special brain explosion (of blood) and a number of other little episodes requiring that trip to the hospital rooms reserved for those with gunshot wounds and horrible influenza (equally treatable in regular clinics, except if you don’t have health insurance; I would venture to guess that last night, 75% of those in the ER room were there because they did not have health insurance).

So, Ed and I waited and we read and we played with our computers and through it all, I kept thinking – Madison is truly and uniquely a wonderful place to require medical intervention. And when the technician came in to administer test number 26745, I couldn’t help but notice that he was wearing a UN strap for his UW Health ID. You interested in the UN? – I asked. Yeah! Really! I want to work there or at an NGO when I am done with school.

Basically, Madisonians want to save the world.

And when the nurse came in and he asked Ed – so you’re????? ...and I said, he is Ed, because you know, Ed is best described this way, the nurse was not phased. And he is…??? I knew the nurse was asking for a relational definition and I was about to say that Ed was my Occasional Traveling Companion, but Ed beat me to this by saying – I’m her chauffer. The nurse wrote it down without batting an eye.

But it was the doctor who was the culmination of my small city’s best of the best. He came in late, just before midnight (again, I was in need of care, but hours would not make me or break me). He sat down and apologized for taking so long to get to me. Ed responded that we were doing ok on our own and indeed, that the doc was just now interrupting our viewing of the rerun of NBC evening news.

I, of course, felt that at least one of us, preferably Ed, should apologize for that remark, but my ER doc laughed and explained that he was not your conventional medic. I think he thought we’d caught on already, what with his shaved head and two diamond studded earring studs, and maybe we should have, except I was too busy admiring his patience and willingness to answer the million questions that I always have for doctors when they are within spittin’ distance of me and my medical issue du jour.

I do so love my little city.

Tuesday – I paid the price for my protracted recline on the ER bed the previous day. I had classes and endless meetings and appointments to get through and it was a tight fit. Luckily the day ended with a glass of wine with my most happy friend. I suppose you don’t remember my suggestion that mental health requires putting in hours with happy people? I did that tonight.

Sunday glow

As if one Saturday of solid warmth wasn’t enough! Sunday outdid itself by adding to it a sky of blue.





And so it was no surprise that the snowdrops were now joined by crocuses.





We walked the Minuteman Trail, my daughter and I. Out of Cambridge, past the Spy Pond…





…past Arlington, sharing the path with bikers, hikers and scooter riders. It’s too early to see even hints of green.





But, I swear I saw plump buds on a magnolia tree. And of course, the ground bulbs have moved beyond the green bud stage. Boston may have tumultuous days of storms and cold weather, but it never gets as freezing, never as bone chilling cold as in Wisconsin. The growing season on the coast of Massachusetts, therefore, starts just that much earlier. Lucky dogs. I would welcome a few weeks more of flowering bulbs and shrubs back home.

In the evening, feeling well centered from the Yoga and well exercised from the hike, we set out for the city’s best pizza (Cambridge,1, off of Harvard Square) and then we did what would normally be a summer thing – we walked over for ice cream at Christina's (off of Inman Square).

For me to eat ice cream outdoors, after the sun has long set, I have to have reached a level of internal warmth that is solid and trusting. Of course, walking these familiar blocks with my little one at my side, I have a different take on life than, say, standing on a corner bus stop in Madison, waiting for the heated interior of a salt and mud spattered bus to defrost my own interior.

Sigh...

Monday brings with it a return to the routines of Madison. Pleasant, yes, of course, very much so, but sadly far from the Cambridge glow of the week-end there. And of course, predictably, a lot colder.

a Boston Saturday, rolling into Sunday...

When I am visiting here, in Cambridge, sometimes we are ambitious and we cover half the state and the one next door. Other times, we can hardly get ourselves to walk to dinner – it is that damp and chilly. The coastal winds can do vicious things to the region.

But always, we make a point of taking the T downtown. Boston’s not a huge city and on a good day, you could hike from south to north (passing through South End, Back Bay, the Royal Mile, the Garden, Beacon Hill, the North End, the Wharves, Faneuil Hall) and back again in the scope of an afternoon. Today was a good day.

You need lots of food to get going though. At the South End Beehive, we get lots of food. The jazz trio plays cool tunes and we wolf down eggs shakshuka. And that’s after we've nibbled on the beignets.


eggs over spicy tomatoes and creamy grits at Beehive


And outside, the temperatures are climbing. Boston, for once, looks good and warm.



South End




outdoor tables




snowdrops!




Beacon Hill


Warm enough to draw crowds at the outdoor market, where shoppers buy crates of tomatoes and oranges. Others pause and slurp. Some are brave, some are timid and need a helping hand. Still others watch.




















You can cover a lot of ground and not sea the water in this city, even though it is so much part of this city’s defining history. You tend to stick to the inland trails.



North End sights


And then again, you can seek out the shore and wonder why it doesn’t draw bigger crowds. There isn’t a soul here, by the bay. Just my daughter and me, watching planes take off across the water.





Retreating now, up the hill, we encounter men of old (and a woman of more recent persuasions), commemorating the Boston Massacre of 1770. Later, I tell Ed about this and I can just sense the eye roll over the phone. Not a massacre – says the man of precision. Merely an event.





And now we are on the T again, heading home.



riding the T


Not for long though. We head downtown again for dinner at O Ya. At the counter. To watch chefs prepare miracles.













warm eel, thai basil, kabayaki, Kyoto sansho




fried Kumamoto oyster, yuzu kosho aioli, squid ink bubbles





shima aji and santa barnara sea urchin, ceviche vinaigrette, cilantro



Are you surprised that the post didn't go up last night? And not first thing this morning either. Active daughter has me at the Yoga Center before I even have time to pop an espresso into me.

A beautiful sun is in its noon position, I'm sitting down now, just for a quick minute. I may even have time to load a few photos. Good day, patient readers! And, for those who take note of the date -- happy Woman's Day.

on a roll

It's time. I haven’t seen either girl since the very first days of January. Too long. (I know I am spoiled. But you’d have to know my daughters! Truly, they can knock the shadow out of any sucky day.)

This week-end I am in Cambridge.





After the east coast snowstorm. So that flying in, I feel I am diving into a Midwestern winter. But wait, this isn't Madison. I'm by the ocean! And the snow is melting.





A curious thing happens (foodwise) when I land on the east coast: suddenly, I crave regional fare. We’re smug back home in Wisconsin about the goodness of cheese and brats and brats and cheese, but I really do miss coastal fare. And so within minutes of my arrival, my girl and I head toward the Summer Shack, so that I can bite into a lobster roll with slaw on the side. Oh, oops: and a Massachusetts oyster sampler.















A noticeable difference between being 24 and 55 is that at my age, there isn’t much that you can get me to do after dinner. My daughter takes off for the remainder of the evening and I retreat. This is where we are in life, right? She’s still exploring. Me, I want time to sit back and think about all that I’ve seen today.

moving

A friend at the university is retiring this month. Wednesday was my last professional (and possibly any) encounter with her and I lingered after our work meeting to get a sense of how she feels about the next stage of her life.

She spoke about her commitment to volunteerism at her church, and about past work that she and her husband had done for Habitat for Humanity down in Kentucky. I asked if she was thinking of moving south and she indicated that her husband’s wood working would most likely keep him (and thus her as well) rooted here – the place of his workshop.

What keeps us rooted to our home base when a job is no longer a consideration? Family – that’s the most typical response, no? Some would say they wont ever leave because of friends, but I doubt they mean it. People in this country move all the time, despite claims of tight friendship networks.




But maybe with age, your dependence on friends changes. Maybe in twenty years, I will have given up even on the idea of friends. On my most recent visit to Poland, my father, who has retreated almost entirely from an active social arena, said that he no longer missed friends. He shrugged and told me -- I said to them and they said to me all that could ever be said in life and so what’s the point? Is this just him, or am I (are we) also likely to hang back thirty years from now?




And what about the prospect of my moving? Naaah, I’ll stay here, in Madison, for reasons of family. I don’t actually have any family in Wisconsin, but I am convinced that none of my closest family members (daughters!) would visit me anywhere but Madison (they love the Farmers Market here) and so I will not move.

I think about this as I load marinated mushrooms onto a plate. Homemade marinated mushrooms. Made for friends who are stopping by this evening.




Still, I know what I;m wrestling with: setting up a home elsewhere is, to me, as tempting as rescuing a dog (warm climate, pooch running outdoors, mmm...). Neither really fits with my life and yet I consider both, quite frequently actually. Once I run through the options and difficulties associated with such monumental changes, I breathe a sigh of relief that it's all in the realm of fantasy.

40s

It’s over. Not officially – that doesn’t happen until later this month, but for all intents and purposes (or, as I misheard for years, having learned English haphazardly, in spurts – for all intensive purposes – which, by the way, is a far more agreeable phrase), it’s over.

What? Winter, of course. The season that pushes good people to move from here to Florida.

Why do I say this? Because each month, once it properly gets going, has, in my mind, an “average” aura. March, in southern Wisconsin (where I live) is all about the 40s. April is mostly a 50s thing. May revs it up with readings in the 60s, June pushes 70s and July and August spiral into the 80s. I recognize that there are vicissitudes, and snow showers in May, and warm spells in April, but generally you can expect the pattern I describe.

March got going today and so for me, winter is but a memory. A week of 40s followed by another and there you have it – daffodil time around the corner.

One past March, in my high school years in Poland, I remember taking a bus out into the country. I walked along a dirt road flanked by willows – they signal spring before other trees join in (it’s all imagery and imagination, of course: yellow willow twigs look more spring-like than, say, the dark bare oak or pasty birch). I listened to birds and I let the mud cover my reliable brown shoes (when did black leather take over the shoe world?) and I thought that March was a fine month, a balmy month, a good month in spite of dirty city streets and bare strips of sod covered by dog crap.

Balmy forties. No more blaming the weather. Time to get going, discover the world, write your novel.

The one thing I’ll say about winter – you can move slowly, or not at all and you will be forgiven. It’s not your fault, it’s the damn cold! In spring, staying frozen in one place sounds like what it is – laziness. Or ineptness. Or both.

to do or not to do

Do most of us know what we are really good at? And if we do know, should we be putting more effort into that gig? Or, instead, may we give ourselves permission to do nothing? Or at least nothing grand?

One life, right? So it should be the latter, no?

No.

Isn’t it a drag that there is this feeling of obligation? That if you’re born singing opera, you accept the burden and take to the stage when the time comes?

I’m safe: I don’t have an opera voice. It’s good, but it isn’t anywhere near opera. Indeed, I always said that I do many things and I do none of them fantastically well (thank God). And still, I wonder if perhaps I should have tried to do some of them with even greater effort.

the great indoors

A long while back, I thought this about people who used mall doctors: it’s like using the ER room: you go there spontaneously, when in need, and when you’re without resources and (therefore) without the ability to develop a continuing relationship with an established medical professional. In other words – not me, not if I can help it.

But the fact is, my medical insurance does not cover eye care and so for the last half dozen years, I have shopped for the cheap and convenient. And so I bought my eye care at the mall.

Like fashion, mall docs come and go. I’ve never had the same palate to choose from. I look at the list and tell the receptionist – put me down for the best one! I always wonder what she does with that.

If you think these are second rate docs, I'll tell you you’re wrong. Actually, I don’t know one way or another. I do know that a number choose the mall venue because of the work hours, others – because of the easier billing structure, and still others – because of the client base. The previous mall doc told me this – I really like the people who come here. (What, he likes mall people? But I’m not a mall person! I wish people had other places to congregate; not here, not by stalls of junk food and racks of stuff we don’t need!) I had thought then that it’s an odd place to like your patients – chances are you’ll never see them again.

Today, I felt I did my bit by giving a young mall doctor her necessary experience to make it in the world of eye care. She and her (equally young) assistant were enthusiastic and seemingly very competent in using the multitude of machines that are now (I guess) standard testing fare. Wonderful people. May they do well.

Afterward, I looked to purchase new glasses. But, the price of fashionable frames was out of my range. I decided I’d simply knock out the old glass and put in the new lens. Ed tells me he wouldn’t recognize me if I change frames anyway, as he has only known me in my current ones. He’s no judge of what’s fashionable (remember – he’s happiest with t-shirts he gets for free from odd sources), but I can’t worry about that.

Ed suggested we head for La Baguette for a pick me up snack of a quiche and café. I felt better. There, I chatted with Madame and took photos of the warmest looking furniture anywhere. With an Orangina at the side, the shot reminded me, in a red(-ish) and orange sort of way, of yesterday’s photo.

elements of a day

Still cold. Spent day cleaning condo. Inspection (for assessment for refinancing) next week. Better get ready – every dollar in value counts. Hope that assessor (who calls me Ny-nah) is easily mollified by sparkling surfaces.

Late afternoon. Ask Ed to come up with a diversion. He dozes. Let’s just say we’re both uninspired.

Set out for Borders. Coffee, flipping pages of books with cool photos of adventurous people.

Not us, not today. So, what photographic moment stands out? Noticing the red water bottle next to an orange. A warm scene, don’t you think?

undulating fields

By three in the afternoon I was still in pajama bottoms. My project of switching to a MacBook and to the newest version of Photoshop was stalled. Photos were getting lost, egos were getting bruised.

One hour later not much had changed and so I set out for a farewell spin. No no, I had no intention of ending it over a bungled computer setup. I just wanted to give a solid wave to February (and therefore winter). To note the passing of months (and therefore, in this case, seasons). The ground is frozen, but in that miraculous way of a receding February, the land looks naked and ready for… something better.





Gorgeous. And quiet. Gold streaks and long shadows spreading slowly over the land to the left, to the right.










Who says it’s tough to be in Wisconsin in February?