Re-entry to D.C.--on Sept. 9th, a week later than planned--was tough.
I forgot how crowded it is here, and how hectic. In the first week back, one client asked me to work over the weekend. Another e-mailed to say that she had gone home sick, had set up shop in bed with her laptop, and was ready to resume work on a project. This is considered normal behavior--even admirable.
I also forgot the degree to which some people take rudeness here, especially on the road—honking, tailgating, making fast illegal left-hand turns from the middle lane of crowded city streets and nearly mowing down pedestrians in the crosswalk.
However, a few days ago, a car stopped for me at a crosswalk, giving me a Boulder-like margin—my feet had not yet reached the curb. Surprised, I looked at the driver. He was Indian. Apparently either he was simply a good, polite man, or he had recently arrived in our fine metropolitan area and didn’t yet know he was supposed to drive like an idiot.
There are digital signs around the area that flash “Aggressive Driving Enforcement Zone.” While I understand they are meant to calm traffic, the wording makes me pause. Don’t we have enough aggressive driving here already without trying to enforce it?
Still, there have been good moments as well. Earlier this week, after a wonderful catch-up dinner and gab session with my friend Cat, I hopped in a cab bound for Casa Childress.
As we rocketed down 19th Street, the windows of familiar restaurants, sandwich shops, and office buildings rolled by like a film. At 9:30 on a Monday night, the streets were quiet, the sidewalks nearly empty--a hush reminiscent of Christmas Eve. For a few minutes, my world was just me, the city, and the cabbie’s velvety classical music.
So many memories here, I thought. Mostly good ones. After 10 years, the city still has not grown stale for me, only slightly less fulfilling.
Soon we turned by the Lincoln Memorial, one of my favorites, it many pillars glowing white and formal and elegant. Across the river, a cantaloupe slice of moon curved above Arlington. It was beautiful.
That night, I dreamed of riding--yet on a train, rolling past unfamiliar stores and suburban scenes, through a dusting of fresh autumn snow in Colorado.
Photo © Terry J. Adams, National Park Service













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