Brushes with Celebrity (of a certain kind)

One of the features of life in DC is that you often run into celebrities -- well that is, celebrities known to those who follow news and politics. There's Dana Bash, anchor of CNN's State of the Union, at the no-frills neighborhood nail salon, Dan Rather perched on a bench outside the Library of Congress, senators going out for coffee or a spin through the beloved independent bookstore, Politics and Prose. Julian Bond used to stroll over to Connecticut Avenue from his unassuming home three blocks away -- no longer with us but forever noted on this sidewalk bench.

But one of the unspoken rules of etiquette is that you let these folks live their lives -- you don't stop and ask for autographs or expect them to engage in a deep discussion of current events. You forgive Al Franken for walking down the street in winter with a Burberry scarf wrapped around his head like a crazed fortune teller (guess he left his hats at home in Minnesota) and you make way for the chief justice and his wife when they crawl over you in the movie theater after the lights have gone down.

Years ago, my mother was visiting from out of town and we went to the playground with my daughter who was only two or three at the time. It was cold and desolate and the only other family there was Senator and one-time presidential candidate George McGovern with his grandchild. Despite my urgings to let the man be, my mom insisted on engaging with him -- I can't remember what she said, perhaps that she was one of the few Georgians who had voted for him in 1972. I cringed but in retrospect, perhaps Sen. McGovern was heartened by the encounter.  Saying thank you for your service is, after all, never considered bad manners.

Capitol Hill

While the rest of the world knows Capitol Hill as the seat of the U.S. Congress, Washingtonians know that it's also a great neighborhood, at once both intimate and stately, yuppified and rough around the edges. It's where I lived when I arrived in 1983, jobless with little furniture, in a roach infested apartment where the bathroom was in the hall just beyond our locked front door, just above a corner grocery that had seen better days. And it's also the site of my first real Washington home, a rented room in a typical rowhouse, where the landlord quickly became my dear friend, the scene of late nights laughing, creative cooking, and Sade playing on the stereo. And then after that, it was the place where I had my very own apartment, albeit with a one-butt kitchen and no air conditioning.

When the time came to buy a house, my husband and I hopefully looked at several Capitol Hill properties and finally realized we could get more for our money and fewer home renovation worries if we bought a house in Upper Northwest. But my enthusiasm for Capitol Hill has never really waned and it was great to be back there recently, passing by the places I lived, seeing how the neighborhood had both changed and endured.

Green and low rise, lined with nineteenth century mansions and early 20th century rowhomes, Capitol Hill is kind of the place where you know your neighbors because you see them every day walking dogs, tending their tiny yards, and sitting on the stoop, watching the world pass by.   And though parking is at a premium, there's actually precious little traffic except for on a few main arteries like Pennsylvania Avenue and East Capitol Street.

Quiet streets

Great architectural details.

 

Amazingly enough, this quiet alley is just two short blocks from the U.S. Capitol, Supreme Court, and the Library of Congress.  It feels like miles and decades away from the hustle and bustle of lawmaking.

Fall Foliage

We had a bit of snow over the weekend, super early by Washington standards but fortunately not enough to stick around for long.  The inconvenience was minor: no schedules to be rearranged around school closures or delays, and with no place really we had to be, it was a good time to stay home, nap, watch movies, and enjoy grilled cheese and soup.

The sun is back out again, reminding us of the glory of an East Coast fall.   Recently I had occasion to drive out towards the Blue Ridge where fall colors really rule.  But though I had my camera with me, rainy skies and pressing appointments kept me from taking any pictures.  Still the reds and yellows around my neighborhood are quite lovely, a sight I missed during my Paris years where the leaves seem to go straight from green to brown to gone.

P.S.  Happy Halloween to all you ghosts and ghouls.

A Capital Sight

I moved to Washington straight out of college and spent my first five years here, both living and working on Capitol Hill.  The thrill of working as a congressional staffer wore thin after awhile, the crazy hours, the ridiculous pace, the never ending stream of mail from irate constituents, the struggle to keep up with intricacies of amendments to legislation I couldn't begin to master but which required quick judgments on whether I should tell my boss to vote yes or no.  But one thing always made my heart stop:  the sight of the U.S. Capitol, particularly at night.when its lit dome seemed to glow against the sky, both weighty and somehow graceful, awesome in its symbolism as a beacon of democracy.

The majesty of the Capitol and the monuments still thrill me, particularly when I can share the sight with visitors from out of town.  And while the grass on the Mall can look a bit ratty, perhaps not sufficiently dressed to suit the Capitol's grandeur, the nice thing is that they actually let you sit on that grass. It's the people's grass after all and you can bring a picnic or your frisbee and no one will chase you away.

If you're feeling fed up with the gridlock that's marked congressional politics of late, I understand.  Thankfully, somehow the squabbling within never diminishes the grandeur of the building itself. 

Restaurant Nora

Chez Panisse has been getting all the hype these days, celebrating its 40th birthday and being feted for its emphasis on local foods and sustainable agriculture.  But listen up folks...America's first certified organic restaurant is not in California but right here in DC.  

Restaurant Nora is hands down my favorite special occasion restaurant in DC.  It's been the setting for countless celebrations, over the past 20 something years, some intimate, some larger and a bit more rowdy, and it never disappoints.  The menu changes daily, taking advantage of what's in season and what organic farmers in the mid Atlantic have to offer.

When we went back last night for a somewhat belated birthday dinner, I was pleased to see that the dining room is still the soothing mix of dark wood, white tablecloths, and beautiful quilts.  And while I rarely order steak, the grass fed skirt steak with panzanella, spinach, and green beans was unbelievably good.  Paired with a red wine from Nora's son's Washington state winery, it was a little bit of heaven, a fair match for any of the fine dining we experienced in Paris.

Thank you Nora.  We'll definitely be back.

Restaurant Nora
2132 Florida Avenue NW (just west of Dupont Circle)

Throwback

Technically, Bruce Variety is not in DC (it's in Bethesda) but it's one store that's definitely worth the drive across the line.  It's a bit of a throwback to the old five and dime, the kind of place where you can find office and party supplies, notions and fabric cut by the yard, anything your 9 year old might need for a diorama, socks and underwear, tupperware and household cleaners, and the list goes on. 

Some of my enthusiasm for Bruce Variety is nostalgic because it reminds me of Horton's, the general store of my childhood, lacking only the soda fountain and crabby women in blue smocks.  These days, folks are more likely to shop at Target or Michael's or any number of other big box stores.  Me, I prefer the more personal if somewhat more dusty merchandise and erratic inventory that Bruce Variety offers. 

Blooms of Late Summer

By the end of August, everyone is pretty much sick of summer.  The garden is overgrown and burnt out, the fantasies of fabulous flowers and beautiful vegetables gone by the wayside.  The kids are bored and cranky, and though they won't admit it, most are itchy to get back together with school friends.   Our sandals are scuffed and our once new swimsuits are almost ready for the rag bag.  And all those fresh salads we were dreaming about back in February have lost some of their appeal.  

But late summer has its own special joys, one of them in DC being the profusion of crepe myrtle trees in bloom everywhere.  Deep red, pink, and white blooms on gracefully arching branches -- a fair competitor to the cherry blossoms and dogwoods of spring.

The leaves will be falling soon enough.  Enjoy them while you can.

Rodman's

It's hard to pigeon hole Rodman's.  It's part grocery, part gourmet foods store, part wine and beer store, part pharmacy, and then there's all manner of other stuff you really need or never knew you wanted.   The premises have been substantially expanded over the past 10 years and while you probably won't want do all your shopping here, you really haven't lived until you have taken the time to peruse its shelves.  In a nutshell, Rodman's is the one place you can count on in DC to stock both sun-dried tomatoes and ostomy supplies.  Because seriously, why make two trips when you can make one?

Apparently Rodman's has three locations but two of them are somewhere north of town in Montgomery County, so for my money, there is only one Rodman's:  on the northwest corner of Wisconsin Avenue and Ellicott Street NW.   And kudos for great customer service:  a pharmacist who took extra time when my mother when she was very ill, the fellow in the wine department who special ordered a case of Vouvray for me and then insisted on carrying it to my car, the watch repair guy who charges only about 8 bucks for a new battery.  If you haven't been by, they're open seven days a week and there's even free parking in back.  The metro's only a few blocks away but with what you're going to be lugging home, bring the car.

Bagels

We haven't yet tried any of the baguette options now available in DC, in part because I don't want to be disappointed and in part because I'm still at the stage of enjoying all the things we missed during four years in France.  And while I hear that Le Pain Quotidien is a nice addition to the local scene and that there is a fabulous patisserie hiding up behind the Twinbrook metro station, for the moment, I am most content with this:

Hot delicious chewiness.

While there's always going to be a New Yorker who will tell you that you can't get a decent bagel in DC, gone are the days when you needed to take the trip north or place an overnight order with H&H.  After what passed for a bagel in Paris (that is bagel shaped industrial white bread often at up to 3.50 euros a pop), these babies at the Georgetown Bagelry are a treat with or without the cream cheese.

All Shopping is Not Created Equal

Several months ago, I received an e-mail from a friend who had just returned to the U.S. from France with the subject line, "Overwhelmed."  When I opened up the photo attachment, it was a picture of the peanut butter aisle in her local supermarket.  I got a belly laugh out of that one, thinking I should have counter offered with snapshots of the yogurt and chocolate aisles in Paris.  I never managed to do that so belatedly I offer two shots from my recent American retail experience. 

The first one?  I can only call it a little slice of heaven.  The wrapping paper section of The Container Store.  Oh how I missed you:  your reasonable prices, your high quality, the endless mix and match combinations of ribbons, papers, cards, and bags.

And did I mention the containers for any kind of little gift on your list?

This display, on the other hand, at Bed Bath & Beyond kind of made me queasy.  I'd have to classify the store as a necessary evil.  I did find the zebra bedding ensemble that was high on my younger child's priority list and at a very fair price to boot.  But the giant shopping carts and the stacks of merchandise to the ceiling were the very embodiment of excessive American consumerism.  If you need this for a snack, maybe you should rethink things.

The Sunday Post

The years haven't been kind to The Washington Post.  Like every other newspaper in the country, it has suffered while Internet news sources have prospered.  There are more stories from wire services, less attention to investigative reporting, the Sunday book section seems to have disappeared while its counterpart Style has morphed into a much thinner tabloid.  All the same, I love having a newspaper with my morning coffee and I love having the multi-sectioned Sunday paper greeting me in the small quiet hours of the weekend.  After four years of subsisting on Internet news and copies of the International Herald Tribune my husband brought home from the office in the evenings, having the Post back in my life is a real treat.  Now if you'll excuse me, news from around the world, updates on local politics, sports standings, theater reviews, comics, and coupons are waiting.

Back in the Saddle

It took less than a week after leaving Paris before my urge to blog resurfaced.  So here I am back in the saddle, ready to post about our re-entry to DC and whatever else comes into my head.  In between the many errands that are on my list, I've been snapping pictures and making notes.  I hope it does not disappoint.

Although I was neither born nor raised in DC, it is definitively my home town.   Potomac fever struck in high school and after the requisite internships as an undergraduate, I moved here after college.  DC is where I established my professional career, met my husband, got married, had kids, and bought one house and then another.   If you wondering whether I live in Virginia or Maryland, the answer is neither.  I am a legal resident of the District of Columbia.  Yes, people really do live here and no, the population doesn't turn over every four or eight years like the residents of the White House. 

One of the things I love most about DC is that it's not all things to all people.  It's black and white, rich and poor, stately homes and up and coming neighborhoods, longstanding residents and newcomers arriving from the four corners of the earth.  Most of all, it's not the place you see depicted on The West Wing or hear disparaged by talk radio.  It's full of real people with real stories and real heart.

We arrived back on American shores just in time to celebrate Independence Day, the morning of which we spent like so many Fourth of Julys before, sitting on the curb on MacArthur Boulevard watching the Palisades parade go by.  We don't live in the Palisades neighborhood but that doesn't matter.  Anyone can feel a part of the home town atmosphere which begins always with the Scouts and bagpipes.

There were fire trucks and policemen; kids with their bikes decorated in red, white, and blue; dancers from Bolivia and Peru; gentlemen on horseback; neighborhood librarians pushing their book trolleys; and local merchants and associations tossing candy to crowds.  The candy is an important part of the ritual; my kids routinely collect enough to last them (if they pace themselves) all the way to Halloween.  Even so, they didn't have quite the same optimism as this little guy.

And this being DC, there were the politicians:  city council members, school board representatives, and of course the mayor (although no one cheered much for him).  We have some catching up to do on local politics so while I can't give you the back story on this banner, I still admired its frankness.

And where else but in DC would the ACLU have a float, complete with its own musical combo?

Thanks all for welcoming us home.