The weekend -- and the times
It was a most peculiar late-fall weekend. Mostly, we're all recovering from the wretched Trump election last week: as the Prophet Bob long ago put it, "the times -- they are a-changin'..."
The weather here in Washington was gorgeous, as if the gods were trying to distract us from our woes. (Yes, I'm still in town here -- not gone off to our winter place in Florida* as I'd planned. Rather than leaving, last Thursday, both Joanne and I were feeling utterly fragile, and a 2-day drive south was the last thing I wanted or needed. So first I postponed it to this week; then last evening I decided NOT to go this month -- Joanne didn't hide how pleased she was at more "togetherness"...)
Saturday was cool and clear. After Joanne had done her usual Saturday morning Church things, she came home. I'd spent that time absorbing the ongoing news in the morning (mourning!) papers -- it felt as if the whole country were on "suicide watch" as we sort out the implications of HALF the nation taking leave of its senses! (As I reported here on Saturday morning, I'd also written off [literally] my 3-month online affair with the darling -- if infuriating -- Katie. It was sad but, frankly, inevitable.)
We decided that we'd go to a favorite place for lunch. It was a pleasant drive on the GW Parkway down the Potomac, through the riverside woods toward Washington's historic home at Mount Vernon. The fall leaves were still glorious. The restaurant, evocatively called Cedar Knoll, commands a fabulous view of the river. (We'd feared its disappearance when it closed last year, but it resurged under new ownership a couple of months ago -- we ate there in early October, so pleased "our" place had survived. As WE had, come to think of it.)
Sunday we raked leaves -- THE fall ritual around here. Our neighborhood has lots of trees, and the annual leaf-removal is a massive effort. Later, I decided to make a rare appearance at Joanne's Georgetown church. She was pleased.
She sings in the choir at the 5:30 mass, but I generally don't attend. I dislike SO much the whole Roman Catholic scene: holier-than-thou people babbling their dumb rituals, the "body and blood," so much hypocritical nonsense! HOWEVER, against my every expectation yesterday, the padre's sermon was actually relevant and insightful. He spoke feelingly of the changes and the uncertainty we all face after the misbegotten election. The Georgetown parish had seen darker times, it had confronted its fears, and pulled through. The church had been "a hospital for the wounded and the dying" after the Civil War battle of Antietam, 25 miles north in Maryland!
Afterwards, with Joanne, I found myself congratulating the pastor for his heartfelt sermon. We also chatted with other friends who attended, everyone bemoaning the damned election. (Yes, WE are the reviled "Washington elite" Trump rails against. Fuck him!)
One benighted fellow there cheerfully admitted to me he had "written in" Evan McMullen (the Utah insurgent against Trump) AND Pence, whom he somehow liked. I charitably refrained from calling him an asshole...
Joanne and I then walked up the street to The Tombs, another favorite restaurant; we had a most convivial meal -- and I found myself glad I had abandoned my Florida plans. Back home, we actually found the marginal tolerance to watch the Trump family's appearance on CBS's "Sixty Minutes." It was horrid, but absorbing. The Republic will survive...
.
___________________
* You lovely Constant Readers know the whole story: first, I hate the chilly, bleak winter in these climes -- while Joanne enjoys this season (and has classes and a half-dozen other reasons/excuses not to go south). Our relationship is strained, and how we travel is a longstanding symbol of how bad things have gotten. Florida, too, is symbolic of us: I mostly don't like being alone down there, BUT I feel like MYSELF in Vero Beach, and time apart has its charms -- so for the last half-dozen autumns I've announced I was heading south. Each time seemed compelling, and each departure has been bittersweet...
.
The weather here in Washington was gorgeous, as if the gods were trying to distract us from our woes. (Yes, I'm still in town here -- not gone off to our winter place in Florida* as I'd planned. Rather than leaving, last Thursday, both Joanne and I were feeling utterly fragile, and a 2-day drive south was the last thing I wanted or needed. So first I postponed it to this week; then last evening I decided NOT to go this month -- Joanne didn't hide how pleased she was at more "togetherness"...)
Saturday was cool and clear. After Joanne had done her usual Saturday morning Church things, she came home. I'd spent that time absorbing the ongoing news in the morning (mourning!) papers -- it felt as if the whole country were on "suicide watch" as we sort out the implications of HALF the nation taking leave of its senses! (As I reported here on Saturday morning, I'd also written off [literally] my 3-month online affair with the darling -- if infuriating -- Katie. It was sad but, frankly, inevitable.)
We decided that we'd go to a favorite place for lunch. It was a pleasant drive on the GW Parkway down the Potomac, through the riverside woods toward Washington's historic home at Mount Vernon. The fall leaves were still glorious. The restaurant, evocatively called Cedar Knoll, commands a fabulous view of the river. (We'd feared its disappearance when it closed last year, but it resurged under new ownership a couple of months ago -- we ate there in early October, so pleased "our" place had survived. As WE had, come to think of it.)
Sunday we raked leaves -- THE fall ritual around here. Our neighborhood has lots of trees, and the annual leaf-removal is a massive effort. Later, I decided to make a rare appearance at Joanne's Georgetown church. She was pleased.
She sings in the choir at the 5:30 mass, but I generally don't attend. I dislike SO much the whole Roman Catholic scene: holier-than-thou people babbling their dumb rituals, the "body and blood," so much hypocritical nonsense! HOWEVER, against my every expectation yesterday, the padre's sermon was actually relevant and insightful. He spoke feelingly of the changes and the uncertainty we all face after the misbegotten election. The Georgetown parish had seen darker times, it had confronted its fears, and pulled through. The church had been "a hospital for the wounded and the dying" after the Civil War battle of Antietam, 25 miles north in Maryland!
Afterwards, with Joanne, I found myself congratulating the pastor for his heartfelt sermon. We also chatted with other friends who attended, everyone bemoaning the damned election. (Yes, WE are the reviled "Washington elite" Trump rails against. Fuck him!)
One benighted fellow there cheerfully admitted to me he had "written in" Evan McMullen (the Utah insurgent against Trump) AND Pence, whom he somehow liked. I charitably refrained from calling him an asshole...
Joanne and I then walked up the street to The Tombs, another favorite restaurant; we had a most convivial meal -- and I found myself glad I had abandoned my Florida plans. Back home, we actually found the marginal tolerance to watch the Trump family's appearance on CBS's "Sixty Minutes." It was horrid, but absorbing. The Republic will survive...
.
___________________
* You lovely Constant Readers know the whole story: first, I hate the chilly, bleak winter in these climes -- while Joanne enjoys this season (and has classes and a half-dozen other reasons/excuses not to go south). Our relationship is strained, and how we travel is a longstanding symbol of how bad things have gotten. Florida, too, is symbolic of us: I mostly don't like being alone down there, BUT I feel like MYSELF in Vero Beach, and time apart has its charms -- so for the last half-dozen autumns I've announced I was heading south. Each time seemed compelling, and each departure has been bittersweet...
.