Barbara A. Wanchisen

It's tempting to let a simple picture of a panda sitting in the fresh air at the National Zoo stand as is, without words.
 
"Awwwwww!" comes to mind.
 
But I have to share some words!

When the pandas returned several months ago, I couldn't wait to go, but waiting was required. People go "ape" to see pandas and the lines have been crazy long for months now. The Zoo still recommends that visitors show up early if they want to visit the panda exhibit comfortably.
 
So a friend and I did just that. We awoke early on a Sunday morning and rushed to Woodley Park. And once we got drawn into the world of the pandas, I could have stayed there for hours staring at them. They didn't have to do much, just be within my eyesight. 
 
What a wonderful break from a stressful world. Highly recommend. 

A lot can happen on an elevator ride inside the subway system.
 
On what appeared to be just another day, I entered the elevator at the platform level at Metro Center with a small bag of groceries. A middle-aged man grumbled as he followed me into the elevator and the door closed behind us. I asked if something was wrong.
 
"Yes I left something on the train just now!" And he shook his head repeatedly, clearly under duress about this.
 
"Oh no! Well they have a Lost and Found – maybe it will turn up," I offered.
 
"No. It was trash."
 
I eyed him quizzically, silently. Who cares about trash after all? Who was this guy? 
 
"I had all of this luggage to manage and yet I really wanted to make it a point to carry my trash off the train and throw it away." He continued to shake his head in apparent disgust with himself.

I wondered whether it really was leaving the trash behind that was bothering him but I did appreciate that he expressed wanting to do the right thing.
 
"It's good of you to care. But remember, the cleaning folks have seen far worse than what you probably left behind."
 
He seemed to think about it a second or two and then nodded and thanked me as the door opened to let us out into the upper station.

It's funny how an entire conversation, with resolution, can occur in such a short time. And I was very glad that he seemed to feel better as he left the elevator to go on with his day, whatever the source of his discontent. 

I prefer the old fashioned way of reading which involves holding a physical book with pages to touch and turn. Yes, I have read books online (and will continue to do so as necessary) but I just don't find it as satisfying. Call me a troglodyte. 
 
To my delight, I saw a young man engrossed in a physical book on the subway (and I could take a photo without revealing his identity which isn't always easy on metro). He's now the poster child of my blog entry today.
 
Surprisingly, it turns out that digital reading has not totally overtaken the reading public. I found data indicating that bookstores are adapting to modern times pretty well. Selling physical books is more resilient than it might appear.
 
Yay!
 
I'm hoping that more people are drawn into - or back into - the pleasures of reading a real book. After all, it is calming to put electronics aside and get absorbed in a good book - mentally but also physically - with an art form that has been around for ages as something to caress in your hands.

There are birds aplenty in the city. Some, like robins and sparrows, can be seen in many locations while others seem to have carved out their territories. Gulls, for example, are plentiful at the reflecting pool near the Capitol while ducks populate the other end of the national mall with a few at the Sculpture Garden.
 
That's why I stopped short when I saw two ducks walking around on the pavement in Penn Quarter. And other people clearly were amused by their presence as well. We all provided a clear path for them to explore the sidewalk in as much peace as was possible.
 
There they were in all their glory, a male and female pair. There was no pond and not much foliage to speak of on that street, but there were lots of people and cars and general downtown hubbub. How did they wind up there? Was their navigation system off?
 
At any rate... what a welcome sight! They gave the humans a moment to pause and smile at them and to remember we share with city with lots of creatures. But as I walked on, I hoped they'd find their way back "home" soon.

There are so many memorials in DC, big and small, that many go unnoticed or are rejected as unremarkable and not worth investigating. There is a memorial that I "discovered" recently, one that I must have walked by countless times.
 
What's even weirder is that I was taken with birds perched way on high above the memorial as they sat on the curved, metal street lamps that light the area. I was thinking how rarely I look up as I walk the streets. So I stopped to snap pictures of those birds. I fancied them as holding court on life below and I was glad to peek into their world for a moment.
 
When I got home and looked at the pictures, the location was listed as The Stephenson Grand Army of the Republic Memorial. What was that? I never noticed that structure, not that day nor for years before that day.
 
It turns out that this is a monument dedicated to Dr. Benjamin F. Stephenson, a Civil War surgeon, who founded a fraternal organization for Union veterans. My curiosity was piqued! After spending some time investigating this man, I was reminded how much rich history is all around me if I would just stop a moment and look at modest statues and memorials.
 
So while I patted myself on the back for noticing those birds on high, I lost focus on what was right at eye level, what was always there if I would just have taken a moment to look. And I wondered if a tour company would find it useful to offer tours of less-visited sites in the city. I'd be interested. 

Two small children, a boy and a girl, were playing hide and seek in the Sculpture Garden. There were plenty of objects, not just the art, to hide behind.
 
"I'll count to 10 and then look for you!" The young girl said and then she promptly closed her eyes and turned to face the sculpture in front of her.
 
The boy ran quickly and found a great hiding place behind another sculpture as the girl soon began to count.
 
 "1…2…5…8...11!" She yelled with vigor after each number. Her creative counting technique struck me as so funny that I laughed out loud but if she heard me, she didn't care as she began to run around in circles looking for the boy.
 
She never did find him. Finally, the adult watching them helped the girl by pointing to where he was and she ran there and the two of them jumped around with pure glee when she "found" him.
 
Clearly, neither of those children cared about the game. They got to run around, count however they wanted to count, and hide or seek. That was enough. They were delighted and satisfied with themselves.
 
I walked away thinking that I should try hard to live life with that attitude!

The National Gallery of Art's ice skating rink brings people together in the winter months. For me, watching people tackle the ice is a highpoint of the year and I enjoy stopping by as often as possible.
 
On a recent visit, when it wasn't particularly crowded, I spied an older couple slowly and gently making their way around and around the rink. The woman was silently gliding with care and her partner skated backwards so he could hold her hand and lead the way. Periodically he looked over his shoulder to see where they were headed so he could keep them on course.
 
As someone who is afraid of falling on ice, I was delighted and maybe a little amazed seeing them out there. There was just something special, if not poignant, about this couple.
 
I wondered if their skating style mimicked the way that they handle challenging situations throughout life. That is, maybe they skillfully navigate the vagaries of life's terrain, with quiet confidence in each other, hand in hand. I hope so.

On Thanksgiving Day, people were milling about, mostly entering or leaving restaurants but some were just getting a good walk in on that food-focused holiday. I wandered past the Downtown Holiday Market on my way to the national mall and noticed that everything was locked up – or so it seemed.
 

One sole booth was opened and a man, wearing a thick flannel shirt and jeans, was inside moving around. He occupied an end booth, so I could get fairly close. I watched him moving things around inside his booth for a minute, his back to the world.
 
"Hey! Today's a holiday and you're working?" (I had to yell a bit to be heard.)
 
He turned around. "This is a perfect day to rearrange the booth." Then he paused. "I'm from Boston and I don't know anyone here so I might as well do this work now."
 
"Boston? You'll have to prove that. Let me hear your accent!"
 
He then went into what I can only call a Boston Rant to which I belly-laughed. I only wish I had written down what he said. Come to think of it, I'm not so sure I recognized all of the words anyway!
 
We then shared a few pleasantries and he encouraged me to return when the booth was open because he had the best hot chocolate in the world and, he added, "I'm not even kidding." (That made me smile.) Then I said I had to get going and he thanked me for stopping to talk with him for a while, that he really appreciated it. 
 
Even though I walk by the market almost every day, there always seems to be a reason for me to not stop, to not try the best hot chocolate in the world.  Maybe the brief exchange that we had on Thanksgiving Day was enough, perfect actually. Talking to someone who was alone on a holiday made my day and likely his, too. That's pretty good stuff to end with. 

The National Gallery of Art shows quirky films and nothing is quirkier (or better) than when they select a silent movie. It is especially great when they accompany the movie with a live piano performance as was the style some 100 years ago.
 
In the auditorium, the lights go down, the shades slowly close, a black and white movie appears on the screen with few intermittent words to read, and the music takes you to a different time and place.
 
This is what it was like when our ancestors went to see a silent film in the theater. Well, they probably didn't call it "silent" because who knew back then that there would one day be "talkies?"
 
Recently I saw "Her Wild Oat" with Ben Model as piano accompanist. I'd laugh at the slightest humorous event, at scenes or situations that I wouldn't even notice in a modern film. I appreciated this artistic piece within its time period and I wasn't alone. The large audience was riveted to the stage.
 
When the movie ended, the audience burst into vigorous applause, some stood in standing ovation, and I sat and watched everyone. There was joy in the air.

I didn't want to leave but I soon had to go back outside and face reality. And when I did, I didn't turn my cell phone back on nor did I check email for quite a while.

I can't recall ever seeing an outdoor sculpture get a serious cleaning. If I thought about it at all, I would have thought that rain basically does the work. 
 
In the National Gallery of Art Sculpture Garden, there resides an almost 10 ton sculpture called Aurora, by artist Mark di Suvero.  On a given day, many people stop and appreciate it for a few moments and then move on as there is a lot to see on the grounds.
 
But on this particular day, there was a crew with a ladder, hoses, brushes and whatnot standing on the sculpture providing a deep cleaning. I wasn't thrilled to see them standing on the actual art piece while they worked, it seemed disrespectful in a way. But I have to say, they looked almost like they were part of that sculpture!  (And I guess 10 tons makes it solid for human weight of course.)
 
Many people stopped to watch them and then would tarry a while, commenting to each other (I suspect about the spectacle of the cleaning process). I stood at a distance and just enjoyed the novelty of this. What a special and kind of beautiful thing to witness. And truly, those workers brought the sculpture to life, albeit in a quirky way.