DC Adventure Day!
I don't know whether it was the beautiful sunny 70 degree weather, or the knowledge that all of my weekends over the next two months will be eaten by rugby, or just a little voice in my soul welling up, but I knew today was going to be a Solo DC Adventure Day. A day to eschew all social invitations and instead indulge myself in a day hanging out with just me.
I started with a metro trip up to Dupont Circle to get my hair cut. It's been longish and floppy and cute but beginning to get scraggly and anyways, the weather is warming up and that calls for short hair. I told the stylist (an older, upbeat Asian man) exactly what I wanted and he nodded and summarized, "Short and sexy!"
And so it is.
With a weight literally lifted from my head, I walked down Connecticut to Julia's Empanadas to pick up an empanada (sweet potato and chickpea and deliciousness!), potato salad, and mango juice, then continued down to Farragut Square for a picnic. While I ate, I read the latest issue of Metro Weekly and flipped through Suze Orman's book for the "Young, Fabulous & Broke" which I'd bought at Kramerbooks on my way past.
Delightfully satisfied, I kept walking down Connecticut and through Lafayette Square, which hosted a loud and colorful conglomerate of anti-war protesters. I continued past the White House and towards the National Mall, but was distracted by an under-construction pavilion tucked in next to the Museum of American History. I took a break to sit on a stone bench next to it, watching the birds, taking pictures, and soaking in the sun.
Next it was on to the Hirshhorn, the Smithsonian's modern art museum, via the Mall. It was full of people, residents and tourists alike walking and playing Frisbee and sitting on blankets, reveling in the sun. In the sculpture garden outside the Hirshhorn, two of the many cherry blossom trees had started to bloom. I walked under them and thought about how much I love the word "riotous", how it implies exuberant energy and utter joy and goes equally well with blooming trees and bellowing laughter.
In the Hirshhorn itself, I soaked up color and energy and light. I used to dislike modern and abstract art because I couldn't find a story in it, unlike classic, representational art. But at some point I realized that if I treat modern art like an experience, if I went into it with the math and body parts of my brain and just enjoyed it without trying to figure it out - well, with that attitude, I LOVE it. I loved Albers' huge canvases with blocks within blocks of color, I loved the dark room where you wait until your eyes adjust and then wonder which is the canvas and which is the wall, I loved the movement of a Calder mobile, I loved the four projectors lined up so their projections overlap and loaded with film that is just screen after screen of variegated color, I loved the room with nothing but twelve pieces of yarn that stretch from ceiling to floor. I loved it ALL.
On the way out, my mother called me and I talked to her while I walked down Independence, past the US Capitol and through another group of protesters with a wide variety of opinions, the most popular seeming to be anti-health care. I then walked down Pennsylvania, past diners sitting outside laughing and drinking with dogs wagging their tails as they played under the table. One restaurant, Laplaza, was serving sangria and had a sign boasting cuisine from every country south of Texas. I decided I wanted to come back.
Saying goodbye to my mother, I walked up 8th street through Eastern Market. After much deliberation, picking up and putting back dozens of rough green paper vessels cradling fruits and vegetables, I walked away with a pint of blueberries, a pint of strawberries, five sweet potatoes, six little red potatoes, and four glossy beautiful tomatoes.
From there it was just one more mile to walk home - no big deal on top of the four or five I'd already traversed. I arrived exhausted and footsore, thirsty and sticky, but utterly happy.
The more time I spend in this city, the more I love it. I am completely and thoroughly content here, and days like this just make me more sure.
I started with a metro trip up to Dupont Circle to get my hair cut. It's been longish and floppy and cute but beginning to get scraggly and anyways, the weather is warming up and that calls for short hair. I told the stylist (an older, upbeat Asian man) exactly what I wanted and he nodded and summarized, "Short and sexy!"
And so it is.
With a weight literally lifted from my head, I walked down Connecticut to Julia's Empanadas to pick up an empanada (sweet potato and chickpea and deliciousness!), potato salad, and mango juice, then continued down to Farragut Square for a picnic. While I ate, I read the latest issue of Metro Weekly and flipped through Suze Orman's book for the "Young, Fabulous & Broke" which I'd bought at Kramerbooks on my way past.
Delightfully satisfied, I kept walking down Connecticut and through Lafayette Square, which hosted a loud and colorful conglomerate of anti-war protesters. I continued past the White House and towards the National Mall, but was distracted by an under-construction pavilion tucked in next to the Museum of American History. I took a break to sit on a stone bench next to it, watching the birds, taking pictures, and soaking in the sun.
Next it was on to the Hirshhorn, the Smithsonian's modern art museum, via the Mall. It was full of people, residents and tourists alike walking and playing Frisbee and sitting on blankets, reveling in the sun. In the sculpture garden outside the Hirshhorn, two of the many cherry blossom trees had started to bloom. I walked under them and thought about how much I love the word "riotous", how it implies exuberant energy and utter joy and goes equally well with blooming trees and bellowing laughter.
In the Hirshhorn itself, I soaked up color and energy and light. I used to dislike modern and abstract art because I couldn't find a story in it, unlike classic, representational art. But at some point I realized that if I treat modern art like an experience, if I went into it with the math and body parts of my brain and just enjoyed it without trying to figure it out - well, with that attitude, I LOVE it. I loved Albers' huge canvases with blocks within blocks of color, I loved the dark room where you wait until your eyes adjust and then wonder which is the canvas and which is the wall, I loved the movement of a Calder mobile, I loved the four projectors lined up so their projections overlap and loaded with film that is just screen after screen of variegated color, I loved the room with nothing but twelve pieces of yarn that stretch from ceiling to floor. I loved it ALL.
On the way out, my mother called me and I talked to her while I walked down Independence, past the US Capitol and through another group of protesters with a wide variety of opinions, the most popular seeming to be anti-health care. I then walked down Pennsylvania, past diners sitting outside laughing and drinking with dogs wagging their tails as they played under the table. One restaurant, Laplaza, was serving sangria and had a sign boasting cuisine from every country south of Texas. I decided I wanted to come back.
Saying goodbye to my mother, I walked up 8th street through Eastern Market. After much deliberation, picking up and putting back dozens of rough green paper vessels cradling fruits and vegetables, I walked away with a pint of blueberries, a pint of strawberries, five sweet potatoes, six little red potatoes, and four glossy beautiful tomatoes.
From there it was just one more mile to walk home - no big deal on top of the four or five I'd already traversed. I arrived exhausted and footsore, thirsty and sticky, but utterly happy.
The more time I spend in this city, the more I love it. I am completely and thoroughly content here, and days like this just make me more sure.