Barbara A. Wanchisen

I have walked through the park at George Washington Circle countless times and yet, this day, I stopped cold and stared at our first president's statue. I was drawn in by the contrasts and shadows that the sun created, turning George Waahington into a ghostly figure positioned in the center of the beautiful living world of flowerbeds, tall trees, and hurrying people.
 
This statue was unveiled in 1860 on the border of George Washington University. It's as if he's guarding the school and the traffic that circles around the park each day. I am sure that locals hardly notice this statue, or the park for that matter, and until this moment I had been no exception.
 
Maybe it's due to the 250th anniversary of our country but lately I have been far more attuned to remembering and exploring the history of America. And while George Washington holds a special fascination for me of late, I feel very lucky to live in a city that offers constant reminders of our rich and amazing past.  

Walking along the U Street Corridor, I was struck by the beauty of a small ice cream shop nestled inside a super cute, architecturally curvacious, historic building. Next to it sat a supremely modern, functionally-designed building with sharp angles, And yet somehow this juxtaposition worked.
 
Maybe part of my awe was appreciating a beautiful sunny day, foliage in full bloom, and the murmur of smiling people going to and fro, because I had walked this area countless times in the past without a thought. But this day I was struck by the scene and took a pause.
 
I love being reminded of DC's early years and appreciate all of its historic buildings, but especially those still in use, modernized just enough to stay alive in the present day. I also know that brand-new modern buildings are needed. And so it's nice when the past meets the present with its own special flair.
 

I ventured out to the Maryland 'burbs to visit with a friend. We decided to drive to a lunch spot that we both liked but this time she took a different road than usual.
 
Our conversation came up short as our eyes were drawn to a curious art form on the right side of the road. A large, brown, wooden hand was holding what we thought was a coin. There appeared to be a small park behind it.
 
We stopped to check it out. A sign near the wooden hand indicated that this was a "Disc Golf Course."
 
A what?
 
I am not an avid outdoorsy type nor do I know a lot about outdoor games but I have lived on this planet for many years now. And yet, I had never heard of such a thing and neither had she.
 
It was a little eerie walking around this park with no one around but clearly it wasn't the season for disc golf and so we were able to explore. We learned that disc golf is sort of like regular golf but without holes in the ground. Instead there were metal baskets at which to aim discs - using a human arm to deliver them. That explained the artistic wooden hand with the disc (not a coin) greeting visitors at the entrance. Mystery solved!
 
I hope we drive by there again when the park is in full use.

Comfortably predictable, winter brings a bustle of activity at the National Gallery of Art's ice skating rink on the National Mall. Expert and amateur ice skaters alike appear in their warm gear, eager and ready to take on the weather and the ice.
 
You'd think I would grow tired of this annual activity, one that I enjoy from the sidelines. But it never fails to engage me.
 
But there was something extra special about this particular mid-afternoon visit to the rink. The skies were unusually complex creating almost spooky shadows on the skaters and on the sidewalk. It felt like a page out of a Poe short story, as if something unexpected would happen next.
 
Sitting on a bench with hot coffee in hand, I drank in the scene and, when I got up to leave, I felt as if I had been in a meditation class. All felt right with the world. I felt lucky to have access to this skating rink, a place to let my imagination wipe away any concerns of the day.

Refreshed, I was ready to head home. 

I love to walk around the city almost any time but it feels very special to take a walk when the city is predictably, but eerily, quiet.
 
This photo was taken on Pennsylvania Avenue, a major roadway for locals and tourists plus a site for organized protest rallies. You can imagine how busy that road is on a normal day. But just a week ago on Christmas Eve Day, what a difference. I could see the naked expanse of the otherwise traffic-congested road, stop at leisure and take it all in. It gave me pause.
 
It's moments like these that make me feel especially at home.

I see the good, bad, and the ugly of city life every day and so much is fast-paced and focused, if not exciting and also scary at times. So to have these days of quiet, of a city taking a vacation of its own in some odd way, I always feel content, and I get a strong sense of belongingness.
 
Urban life is not for everyone; neither is suburban life nor rural life. As with all lifestyle choices, there are pros and cons, but we know when we are living in our right place.
 
I am lucky. (Happy New Year!)

From a window in Chinatown, several stories up, I watched passers-by stop to take pictures of the impressive Chinese Arch.
 
As a pedestrain, I had seen people snap pictures before in that location and would barely glance at the action. But from the vantage point of that window, and over the course of about 20 minutes, the numbers seemed remarkable. The flow of eager photographers was almost non-stop.
 
Some people would look up, position themselves for a moment, and take a quick photo. Others would be walking and then appeared to be prompted by seeing other people looking upward with a camera; and then they would stop and join the action. It was a never-ending stream of humanity and everyone seemed cordial, focused, and they might share a smile or a few words with others. And then they would move on.
 
Having a little time on my hands and with the right circumstance, notably one that included a window, I witnessed a gentle march of humanity that was peaceful and likely satisfying for all involved – for those outside and certainly for me inside.
 
And again I was reminded if I slow the world down a bit, actually watch what is going on right under my nose and take the scene in fully, I might find some much-need calm in the middle of my own hectic day.

I was stuck in a crowd on the subway and then stuck in an even tighter crowd headed to a metro escalator. (I had entered metro in a sullen mood and the conditions didn't help.)
 
But then so loudly, so joyously, I heard a man yelling a good morning to all. It was a metro worker positioned near the escalator, watching the crowds. First he extended the two words (a la Robin Williams in the movie "Good Morning, Vietnam") and then said them in rapid succession:
 
"Goood Mooorning!" Then: "GoodMorningGoodMorningGoodMorning!"
 
He was tall with long hair and had the biggest grin on his face. When I got near to him, I said loudly, "Good Morning!" He did a double take and then said, "Thank you! I appreciate that!"
 
As I got on the escalator, he happily returned to his almost "song" despite the many commuters who seemed to not hear him, who would just shuffle by.
 
When I exited to the street, it was with with a smile and a much better attitude. It's funny how a small incident like that can be so effective.
 
This man told me he appreciated that I spoke to him; well, let me say that I appreciate him!

The National Mall buzzes with activity most of the time. People of all ages and many ethnicities gather to picnic, exercise, or visit the Smithsonian museums.
 
But sometimes I can go there and find a scarcity of humans, typically in the early daylight, with the only "buzzing" being that of certain insects. And I embrace those moments. There is something so enticing yet comforting to have the Mall all – or mostly all – to myself.
 
In the picture, you can see one woman walking as if guided by the light of the Washington Monument. I was sitting on a bench some distance away from her but I, too, was drawn to the distant light.
 
This was a perfect morning in my book. I could tune out the world and just inhale history peacefully for a while.

August is a time to escape city heat if at all possible. The humidity and high temps are bad enough but the streets and sidewalks emit their own special kind of heat upward; and buildings don't allow for much air flow.
 
Plus human tempers can ramp up as high as climate temps.
 
I recently escaped the city heat by heading north, and enjoyed hunkering down in a remote cabin in the Poconos far from the madding crowds, with a babbling brook as the primary sound. It was surreal, certainly out character for my lifestyle, but what a needed change!
 
One afternoon, I walked outside the cabin onto the front porch and looked right and there was a deer tentatively looking at me through the thick brush. Slowly, slowly I lifted my phone and took a picture while the deer stood still. I then sat down and started to read a book but out of the corner of my eye I could see the deer poking around, in no hurry, and then she eventually wandered away.
 
The time in the cabin was kind of an extended meditation and it was just what I needed. This was not my first campaign with escaping this way and it won't be my last.
 
It took a few days to get my city brain fully engaged when I got home. But there is, in fact, no place like home.
 

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.