Barbara A. Wanchisen

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. 

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.