Traveling at the speed of water

 

          Like so many other truths, you really can’t go home again. In my case, there’s no one there anyway and Arlington, VA is unrecognizable now – more like L.A. than the suburbia I remember, now full of traffic and tall buildings.

          Not only did they knock down my high school, they renamed it. Washington-Lee H.S is now Washington Liberty. I wonder what alums Shirley McLaine, Warren Beatty, and Sandra Bullock would have to say about that.

Washington-Lee at Henley

          And I doubt if the school’s boat house on the Potomac still exists; the school dances
there were memorable, everyone stamping to the beat on the wooden floor that sat over the water. I do remember the excitement when the 1964 (a couple of years before my time) crew team went to the Henley Regatta. (The crew guys had a pretty big profile in school, all being over six feet – no pun intended – since when the weather turned, they simply transitioned into the basketball team.)

          They competed there in 1965, too, but it was in ’64 that they won the Princess Elizabeth Challenge Cup.

          Why this rehash of the past?

          Our grandson Gabe just competed on Sunday in the Head of the Charles in Boston. He rowed in a boat of 4 for University of Delaware, and both his and the boat of 8 finished in the top half, which means they’re guaranteed an entry for next year. He’s a senior, but perhaps next year he can compete as an alum. Case in point, the team from Princeton that included members from class of 67 and 73.

Sunday Musings

 

This morning the room contained at least thirty people but the silence was profound until my yoga class was briefly disturbed by a sneeze, followed by a neighbor’s “bless you.”

Yoga offers an opportunity to reflect on life, so my deep thought was, “Does anyone say gesundheit anymore?”

 

          Then there’s the fact that we all get a bit shorter with age, which makes sense- gravity and all. But why do our ears and noses continue to grow? I can’t imagine what evolutionary issue that ever addressed.

 

          And why does an Irish wolfhound remind me of Donald Sutherland?

 

          You can see that meditation for me is a work in progress.

Oral Issues

 

   

       In 45 minutes I’m leaving for an event I’m anticipating with the same dread as my dental appointment on Tuesday.

Limited Outlook

 

          Before we moved to this condo, we lived in a house that we bought – among other reasons – for its many, many windows. Something I later came to regret because each of those windows was mullioned, twelve-over-twelve. And the mullions weren’t inset; they were wooden, which made washing them a tedious, hand-numbing event.

          Window washing never having been my thing, last week I asked around and found a guy, the best friend of the son of a Mahjong friend. Stupendous! Fabulous! And cheap! Now I may not wait such an embarrassingly long time in between cleanings.

         

          Now that we live in the commune, our view is very limited. Even though we’re an end unit, the only first floor window on the side is a tiny one in the bathroom.

          Thus, windows at the front

 and windows at the back.

        

  So, when we woke up the other morning at 7:00 a.m.  to chain saws and woodchippers, I wondered if they had finally decided to take down what My Guy and I call the ‘possum tree. It’s earned its name over the years because while it has glorious blooms in the spring – for about 5 days – the rest of the time it looks like it’s at death’s door.

          The tree sits on the blind side of the house, so after fruitlessly looking for activity out of the front and back windows, I figured I’d just wait till I drove out of the garage to check. (Okay, yes, I could have gone upstairs and peered down but I wasn’t all that interested - or energetic.)

      

    Later, I realized the itzy bathroom window gave a perfectly fine view of the still-intact bare branches of the tree.

        Duh.

Keeping Up

 

In the days of James Thurber, I remember as a child paging through my parents’ New Yorker magazines, looking for the cartoons. When I did find them, I often couldn’t figure out what they were about or why they should be considered funny. I did like the Charles Adams ones, which probably says more about me as a child than I’d like to think about.

Eyes

 

Yesterday at 8 a.m., mine was the lone car (except for staff) in my ophthalmologist’s parking lot. I’d requested this ungodly time since I had an event in the afternoon requiring me to look presentable (i.e. not wearing sunglasses indoors like some kind of faux celebrity) and also be able to read.

Brave new shopping world

 

On a weather note, I put on shoes for the first time (not counting sneakers for walking and pickleball) yesterday.  I’ll happily wear sandals with jeans and a sweatshirt, but I woke up to 44 degrees this morning and I can hear the heat cranking up in the basement. So it’s time, bunion or no bunion.