Merry Christmas!

The neighbors are once again outdoing themselves with the array of holiday inflatables decorating their lawns. But for whatever reason, I don't find the Christmas-related ones nearly as intriguing as those put up for Halloween. I do love a good display of lights, whether they be the white twinkly ones or the more traditional multi-colored string.  However, my photographic skills are not sufficient to capture these effectively.

So merry Christmas to all who celebrate and to all those who enjoy the festivities no matter their faith. And I'll leave you with this photo of a creative and low-cost approach to decorating.

Telling the Story of Black Broad Branch and Belmont

The Friendship Heights neighborhood, which straddles the line between DC and Maryland, has become a bit of a ghost town with big retail failing during the pandemic, emptying out two indoor shopping spaces -- Mazza Gallerie and Chevy Chase Pavilion -- plus countless other smaller spaces. A business improvement district (BID), the Friendship Heights Alliance, has been formed to spur redevelopment and what they called "placemaking" on both sides of the District line, but it's going to be awhile before the area is vibrant again.

Say what you will about BIDs, one positive step by this one has been activation of the streetscape of a PEPCO substation along the west side of Wisconsin Avenue between Harrison and the south entrance of the Metro station, with exhibits focused on neighborhood history. Last year, local historians worked with students at Jackson-Reed High School to tell the story of the taking of the Fort Reno from Black residents who lived there after the Civil War and into the early 20th century. And this week, a new exhibit opened to tell two additional stories of the area's shameful past: the forced relocation of Black families living along Broad Branch Road to create a school and park serving White families, and the actions of the Chevy Chase Land Company to prevent development of Belmont, a subdivision on the Maryland side of Chevy Chase that was the brain child of Black developers. The last panel brings us out of the past to the present, suggesting opportunities for repair and reparations. 

The project, a collaboration of independent historians, the DC History Center, and the University of District of Columbia, will likely be up for awhile so you have time to wander over to absorb it all. 

Martin Weil is a National Treasure

You are probably wondering who Martin Weil is and why someone you've probably never heard of should be considered a national treasure.  But feast your eyes on this from the Sunday Washington Post:

At a time when weather reports focus on the sensational, Weil, a longtime reporter for the Washington Post's metro section, takes the mundane and makes it special.  I'd call these pieces tone poems but the specific details on weather metrics keep them in the realm of reportage.

How he does this day after day is beyond me so I reached out (actually twice) to learn more from the man himself. But he never responded, leaving me to imagine his motivations and source of inspiration.  I have a lot of bones to pick with The Washington Post these days, as it lays off seasoned reporters and cuts back on local coverage in its quest to be recognized as the national paper of record. But the fact that Weil is still doing his thing gives me hope.

Thank you Martin Weil for sharing your insights, lyrical prose, and detailed reporting.

For Your Listening Enjoyment

 

From Foxtrot Comics by Bill Amend

These days when getting together with friends, the conversation predictably leads to three questions:  What are you reading? What are you watching? And, what are you listening to?

I love a good podcast and love having the company in my pocket while I cook, do yard work, or just take a walk. My podcast listening started (predictably for my demographic) with This American Life and Serial but has since branched out. When I gave up my New Yorker subscription, finding that I could either read books or read The New Yorker, it was nice to realize that Terry Gross routinely interviews the authors of the magazine's longest articles, condensing hours I would have spent trying to understand the origins of an overseas conflict or the ins and outs of cryptocurrency, with a tight 50 minutes on the Fresh Air podcast.

But sometimes subscribing to an interesting podcast can feel as much like a chore as doing the laundry or striving for in-box zero. So what I really love is a good limited series that reels me in for 6 episodes or so and then I'm off the hook.  In that spirit, here are a few of the limited series I can heartily recommend.  Listen, as they say, "wherever you get your podcasts."  

Wind of Change: In 1990 when things were changing rapidly in Eastern Europe, the West German band, The Scorpions, had a mega hit with a power ballad, Wind of Change. This podcast by the same name asks the question of whether the song was actually written by The Scorpions or by the CIA. Yes that's right. In the hands of Patrick Radden Keefe, a journalist who had huge success with books about the troubles in Ireland and the Sackler family, this question doesn't seem so silly.

Anything that Rachel Maddow puts her hands on:  Rachel Maddow is incredibly impressive but I find her TV show to be a bit much given that she generally makes her point in the first 10 minutes and uses the remaining 50 to make it again and again. But the three limited series podcasts that she has produced and hosted are all top notch, focusing on parallels between sometimes forgotten moments in U.S. history and politics and the present day. Bagman is all about Spiro Agnew, who was forced to resign from the vice presidency (fortunately before Nixon resigned).  Ultra takes us back to the 1930s when there was a strong fascist streak in American politics, and Deja News riffs on the question of "has this happened before?" with a series of different stories on the theme. That Maddow is a good storyteller is no surprise, but I also love that she doesn't hog the spotlight from her  collaborators.

Buried Truths: This podcast, hosted by former Atlanta Constitution managing editor Hank Klibanoff and produced by WABE, focuses on civil rights cold cases.  Klibanoff has pressed his students at Emory into action to help uncover the truth about cases from the 1950s and 60s where justice was not served.  The team combs court records and FBI files, and interviews the surviving children of those either falsely accused or all too often murdered. Technically, this is not a limited series because there are now four seasons in the book but each season is one long arc about one story. It's amazing how Klibanoff and his students turn historical scraps of evidence into a compelling narrative. Plus I love hearing it all in Klibanoff's soft Alabama accent.

Scamanda: One of my former colleagues turned me onto this -- a riveting tale about how a young woman named Amanda scammed hundreds of people (including members of her own family) into giving her tens of thousands of dollars supposedly for cancer treatment. Why do we find true crime so addictive?  I can't say but this one will definitely keep you wondering what happens next.  My one complaint is that the eight episodes could probably have been trimmed to just six.

La Brega:  Back when my job required me to think about how Medicaid worked in the U.S. territories, I discovered this podcast all about Puerto Rico. This was a fascinating dive into the history and culture of a place that is both part and apart from the rest of the United States. You can listen in either English or Spanish; either way, you won't be disappointed.

Do you have a favorite limited series to share?  If so, drop me a line in the comments.

Falling Leaves

 

At a recent online meeting, the icebreaker question was "what is your favorite thing about fall?" There were shoutouts to hayrides and apple picking, football and Halloween candy.  My favorite? Hands down, it's the changing of the leaves and the riot of oranges, yellows, and reds that grace my neighborhood.

We are well past peak fall color here in DC so we've now turned to the raking portion of the season. When I was a kid, I was always looking for somewhere to hide when my dad pressed us kids into action to deal with our big front and back lawns.

Thankfully, the yard at my house is a fraction of the size of that at my childhood home. Plus the city vacuums up leaves left at the curb and while there are many kinks in that system, it certainly beats having to bag them.  

The garden crews that people hire to de-leaf their lawns almost exclusively use blowers to get the job done. Last year, a new ordinance was passed banning gas-powered blowers, in part because they use fossil fuels and pollute our air. But they are also incredibly noisy, something I didn't quite get until I was working from home during the height of the pandemic.

However, enforcement seems weak.  Unlike the parking cops who troll the neighborhood looking for cars that have outstayed their welcome, the key mechanism to get rid of the gas-powered machines is for neighbors to submit a complaint online. You need a lot of information to do so and it's not clear what kind of followup is done. The garden crews definitely prefer the older equipment which has greater power and gets the job done faster.

As with all things political, the neighbors seem quite content to voice their opinions with yard signs. 

As for me, I remain solidly on team rake and have the blisters to prove it.  In fact, I'd better get off the computer and go tackle the yard.

Happy Thanksgiving!

It's a busy week for most of us but since I'm trying to stick with a regular routine of posting every Monday, I'd thought I'd pop in to wish everyone a happy Thanksgiving. The list of things for which I am thankful is quite long, not the least of which is a giant turkey inflatable.

Plus who wouldn't mind a cheerful seasonal greeting from Tigger?  Enjoy the turkey and pie and don't start a fight at the dinner table with your crazy uncle.

Thanks to Our Veterans (a little late)

Veterans Day was either Friday or Saturday of last week. Unlike other federal holidays that are observed on the closest Monday to the actual holiday, Veterans Day is always observed on the exact day itself -- November 11.  I'm confused though because while the 11th fell on Saturday this year, the federal holiday was observed on Friday but somehow the mail carrier still delivered our mail that day.

My confusion is not the point, though. We observe Veterans Day on the 11th of November because that's when the armistice for World War I went into effect, even more specifically the guns went silent at 11 am, making it final on the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month.  And in my family, this is significant because both of my grandfathers served in World War I.

My father's father, Abraham B. Schwartz (or Beb as he was known from childhood) was 26 when the U.S. entered the war. He was a fully qualified physician and therefore entered the U.S. Army as an officer. Although I knew him well, his war experience was never something that we discussed.  Moreover, his military records were among many that were destroyed by a massive fire in 1973 at the National Personnel Records Center in St. Louis.  So what I know of his Army experience is pieced together from photos, other official records, and a few jottings in his handwriting and that of my grandmother.

After being inducted in Milwaukee in late 1917, he received his basic training at Fort Riley, Kansas. In August 1918, he boarded the Leviathan, en route for U.S. Base Hospital 82 in Toul in northeastern France. This was just about 25 miles from St. Mihiel, where a major battle was fought in September of that year.  Beb was not a surgeon so I'm not sure what his role might have been in such an engagement.

The rest of his service is a bit of a mystery, the only clues being the photo below which is labeled on the back "interviewing Russians at a displaced persons camp, 1919" and a note in his official Abridged Prayer Book for Jews in the Army and Navy of the United States, that he was a volunteer with Russian prisoners of war.  Perhaps the Yiddish spoken in his childhood home or phrases in Russian that his parents brought with them when they emigrated from what is now Belarus was helpful?

He was discharged in August 1919, returning to Milwaukee where he practiced pediatrics until he turned 80.

My mother's father, Sydney Freedman, had a different experience. He died on my 5th birthday so I only have a few memories of him but fortunately, I do have a few facts. In the fall of 1917, he was two years out of high school, working as a salesman for E. Kirstein and Sons, a manufacturer of optical products in Rochester, NY. (Two interesting footnotes here:  First, the company held his job and paid a portion of his salary throughout his military service. Second, the "sons" of the company title included Lincoln Kirstein, perhaps best known as one of the founders of the New York City Ballet and who also served in World War II as one of its Monuments Men, locating and retrieving artworks stolen by the Nazis.).  

He did his basic training at Fort Dix, New Jersey where the Thanksgiving meal included both oysters on the half shell and roast loin of pork, items that certainly would not have been eaten in his Jewish home. In May 1918, Battery D 19th Field Artillery shipped out for Europe on a ship called Tunisian, arriving almost a month later.  New York State maintained records of soldiers in its own archive which is how I know that his unit engaged at Vosges, St. Mihiel, Thiacourt, and "Pogney Front", the last of these yielding nothing on a Google search. A lifelong joker, Private Freedman told my mother that he served in the cavalry and his job was to clean "the part under the horse's tail." 

When the armistice came, he was sent to be part of the U.S. forces supervising the evacuation of the Germans from Luxembourg, billeting with a family in Itzig, until his discharge in July 1919.  My mother-in-law's family came from that area and left aunts, uncles, and cousins behind, the descendants of whom the family remains in touch with to this day. It is crazy for me to consider that my grandfather, this short, portly Jewish fellow from New York, might have lived with the Catholic farmers related to my husband, and what they might have made of each other.

Syd's younger brother Ephraim also served in the army but never went further than Buffalo.

His future brothers-in-law, Sam and Joseph Cohen, were not inducted until May 1918, and they too never saw any overseas action.  Their basic training took place at Camp Sheridan near Montgomery, Alabama and I imagine (although can't say for sure) that this was the furthest they'd ever been away from home.

Happily for their mothers, all these men came home in one piece (because if not, I would not be here at all). Sadly for all of us, World War I did not turn out to be the war to end all wars. 

What to Do at This Moment?

The world is a dumpster fire right now. The situation in the Middle East is heart breaking, both because of the human toll on innocent Israelis and Palestinians and because there doesn't seem to be a way forward. The war in Ukraine rages on. Drug overdose deaths are up 30 percent year over year. September was the hottest its been in nearly 200 years of climate record keeping. The polls suggest that Donald Trump will almost certainly be the Republican candidate in the 2024 election and he could very well become president again.

So what does one person do?

In my childhood home, Robert F. Kennedy's words from his 1966 speech at the University of Capetown were posted on the bulletin board in the kitchen, alongside the emergency numbers and youth soccer schedule.  The excerpt was this: 

It is from numberless diverse acts of courage such as these that the belief that human history is thus shaped. Each time a man stands up for an ideal, or acts to improve the lot of others, or strikes out against injustice, he sends forth a tiny ripple of hope, and crossing each other from a million different centers of energy and daring, those ripples build a current which can sweep down the mightiest walls of oppression and resistance.

I took note and taped these to the wall over my desk at my first real job on Capitol Hill, reminding me that there was a purpose to my efforts that was bigger than the daily grind of answering constituent mail. They spurred me on to a career focused on improving health care, particularly for those with low incomes.

But what to do at this particular moment when everything all at once seems to be headed south? I could write to my member of Congress, except as a District resident, my representative does not have a vote or much of a voice. I could consume a steady diet of news and opinion about all the world's ills and endlessly discuss my angst and my preferred solutions with friends and family.

To what end? I don't think anyone has noticed that I don't patronize Chick-Fil-A because its owners are big contributors to organizations that foster hate against the LGBTQ+ community, or that I stay away from The Wharf due to the unconscionable development deal struck by the city with property owners who cater primarily to the wealthy. I'd be kidding myself to think that these actions are resolving problems. Or that I have the power to affect all the world's troubles all at once. 

So then what?

These days my acts to improve the lots of others are small, one might say infinitesimal. They include filling up the Little Free Library at the transitional housing facility for families, sending weekly greeting cards to lonely nursing home residents as part of the Letters Against Isolation campaign, advocating for affordable housing in affluent Upper Northwest DC, writing get-out-the-vote postcards to folks in states with important elections, and selling pies to support Food & Friends, a local organization that provides nourishing meals to people dealing with chronic illness. 

Do these tiny acts send out the "tiny ripples of hope" as RFK suggested?  I've been thinking about this a lot and honestly, I'm not so sure. But in the end, I do these things not because I think they make a huge difference or even because doing them makes me feel better. Rather I know that if I did nothing, I'd feel as if I hadn't tried. And for now, that will have to be enough.

-------

As a postscript, I wanted to share a prayer offered by Rabbi Sarah Krinsky at a recent prayer vigil convened by the Washington Interfaith Network. I found her words both sorrowful and comforting, a combination that seems pitch perfect right now.

Eloheinu v’elohei avoteinu v’imoteinu - our God and God of our ancestors, Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel and Leah 

God of Jesus and his disciples, God of Muhammad and his descendants 

God of mothers. God of lovers. God of children, magical and  real 

God of fighters. God of peacemakers. God of peace.

God of those who call out, who cry out. God of those who cry

God of those who are angry at God. God of those at whom God is angry.

God of those who have lost their way, lost their faith, God of those who have abandoned and of those who have been abandoned. God of the godless

God who performs miracles. God of past and of present. God of an imagined future

God of the captives, of the un-free. 

God of those holding onto hope. God of those who are drowning in despair. God of those who are drowning and those who are thirsty and of those who thirst for something better

Our God, all of our God - to you we pray. 

We pray to you knowing that you are getting a lot of prayers these days. Prayers that are coming a mile a minute, language by language, prayers from a parent, then a child, then a parent again. Your divine ears, oh god, must be brimming, overflowing with the endless cacophony. Please, oh God. Please no, oh God. If only, I promise, just guide me, oh God. 

But we know, God, that you hear not just with ears, but with an endlessly expansive and capacious heart. A heart that does not just recognize words but that sees pain. A heart that doesn’t just listen to liturgy but that senses loss, or despair, of hope, or faith, or love. 

Hear us with that heart, oh God. Hear our yearning. Witness our connection. See that we’re trying. See that we’re crying. Hear us with that heart. And help us to hear, to witness, to see and to love in Your image, as your holy emissaries in this messy broken world. 

Baruch atah adonai, shomei tefillah - blessed are you, oh God, who hears all prayers.

Buh-bye Twitter (or X or whatever it is), Hello Threads

 I've finally decided enough is enough and deleted my Twitter account.  If you want to follow me on Threads, you can find me at https://www.threads.net/@justanotherdayindc

Boo! Part 2

I said last week that the neighbors were all in on Halloween, but some people have really gone next level.  

Being clever and audacious is what gets points here. While I celebrate enthusiasm of those who decorate their yards with a little bit of everything -- tombstones, a witch's striped stockings coming out of the ground, a random skeleton or two, plus a random trick or treating cartoon character -- I get the feeling that these seem more like "art as process" than anything else. Just like the dozens of "art" works that my kids produced in nursery school (most of which I tossed almost immediately), these yards seem to be more for the enjoyment of the decorators than the viewers.  Also no fake cobwebs -- I mean who thinks that mess looks anything like cobwebs.

So on to my picks for best in show.

The Georgetown Skellys in designer attire (they even have their own Instagram account) 

Smaller effort but major points for creepiness and for repurposing the toys your kids no longer use

Skeletons who've caught the pickleball bug

A 13 foot Jack Skellington from Tim Burton's The Nightmare Before Christmas.  He's animatronic with motion sensors that will set off his mouth and hand movements.  And for $399, one should definitely expect that level of spookiness.  One neighbor has added an additional song feature.

A Barbie house on a corner lot in Glover Park/Burleith.  By the way, it looks like Barbie Pond on Avenue Q has a new look for Halloween with its haunted Malibu dream-house. 

But the prize definitely goes to this house.  I took a bunch of pictures two weeks ago and then when I went by on Saturday, I found that additional figures had been added.  

First, the whole house view and then some details.

That's it for Halloween.  Stay tuned in case the neighbors pull out all the stops at Christmas.

Boo!

The neighbors have gone nuts decorating for Halloween. I've snapped so many pictures that I will have to do this in two parts -- a potpourri of themes today and then my best-in-show next week. For the record, my Halloween decorations consist of a pumpkin I bought at Safeway. Rest assured that trick or treaters will be welcome at my house -- at least until 9 pm when all the little ones should be home in bed or stuffing themselves with chocolate.

First up are the witches.

Next up: pumpkins

Tasteful

Cheerful

All in on the theme

Squirrels at work

Which brings us to all manner of skeletons:

Die-hard Nationals fan

The whole family just settin' out on the stoop

Traditionally spooky

For Game of Thrones enthusiasts

The little mermaid of your nightmares

Aging rocker

And finally (for today), inflatables:

See you next week!