My Rocker

I am not a big shopper, and Black Friday definitely is not my thing, but when my nephew said he wanted to go to a nearby thrift shop this afternoon, I decided to tag along. And it was not just any teeny tiny second hand place-- oh no, this was a huge emporium of cast-offs all seeking a second or third chance at utility and all very economically priced.

Sure, it took patience and a keen eye to sort through all the junk, but the promise of untold treasure for a few measly bucks was motivation enough to prowl the aisles, sliding hangers clickity-clack one at a time down the rack to evaluate their contents, appraising old phones and glassware, drum kits, computer monitors, and even furniture.

And it was in that department that I made my find for the day. A 1960s era small wooden rocking chair in the neocolonial style that was popular then. It had been painted with a two-tone blue design and was kind of dirty, but it was solidand sturdy and for 10 bucks, all I could see was possibility.

Sweet Time

We are generally late diners; dinner at our house is never before 7:30 and most often closer to 8. So last year when Heidi's parents could only get a 4:30 dinner reservation on Christmas Eve the time seemed rather early, but what could we do?

As things turned out, it was twilight when we left the house in our holiday finery, and bright lights twinkled merrily in the gathering darkness. The spirit inside the busy restaurant was timeless; excellent food and company, heavy drapes and dim chandeliers made it easy to imagine that we were dining at a usual hour.

The more I thought about it, the more I was reminded of traveling across time zones, like eating breakfast at your midnight on a transatlantic flight in preparation of a 6 AM landing and a full day beginning while all your friends are sleeping soundly at home. All it takes is the twist of a watch stem or the willing suspension of checking the time, and time releases its hold on you.

That's why I wasn't upset at all when I heard that we were expected to dine at 4 this Christmas Eve (especially since we have to be at the airport at 6 the next morning, which could be like 8 or 9 if we were a couple of time zones to the east), and why I was willing to eat Thanksgiving dinner today any time it was ready and convenient for the rest of our group.

And after we finished our feast at about quarter to 6, and the leftovers were put away, we took a walk around the neighborhood before dessert. Through lighted windows it was plain that some folks were in our time zone or a little ahead, watching football and cleaning up, and others were an hour or two behind, just sitting down and offering the first toast of the holiday. And then we returned home, where our celebration, full of family, friends, and fellowship continued on in its own good time.

Gracious Winner

"Kyle's strategy appears to be the best," Victor reported when we asked them about their game-in-progress at dinner.

Treat agreed, "He hit upon it pretty early, and it's working well."

We all nodded as Kyle bowed his head modestly.

Later, when the boys had excused themselves from the table to continue their game, I said, "Wow! That was pretty high praise. I'm sure Kyle appreciates it, because he knows those guys do not give empty compliments."

And indeed, Kyle prevailed. "Aunt Trace!" he crowed. "It was only my second time playing and I won!" He turned to Victor and Treat, "But I owe it to you guys, too. You told me I was on the right track. Thank you!"

Two Bits

Kyle and I walked up to a local shopping center this morning to run a couple of errands and get our hair cut. As the stylist worked she turned the chair so that I was facing the front of the salon, and so I occupied myself watching the steady stream of folks in and out of the building. "Is it always so busy on Tuesday morning?" I asked her with some amazement.

"Is it Tuesday?" she dead-panned.

Renegades

The signs were clear: no dogs are allowed on either the Billy Goat Trail or the boardwalk leading down to the falls. But on a sunny, but very blustery Monday in November the hikers were few and the rangers were fewer. As such, we saw a couple of dogs enjoying the day with their owners in defiance of the regulations.

Years ago when our dog was a puppy we took her to Roosevelt Island to walk and swim. The 88 acre national park requires all dogs to be leashed, but we set her free to let her swim. The excitement was all too much for her, though, and when she exited the water she took off running down the trail. "I'm wet! I'm wet," she would have shouted if she could. We were laughing at her pure delight and whistling her back to us when a woman with her dog on the required leash happened by.

"That would be fun, if that were allowed," she sniffed to her dog and kept on walking. As a rule follower myself, I understood where she was coming from, but there was no way such joy could ever be wrong. 

Against the Wind

We braved steady winds of 20-30 mph (with gusts of 50!) to bike-share around the tidal basin today. Well, Kyle and I pedaled while Heidi and a friend ran-- kudos to those two! We had the wind at our backs all the way from the FDR where we picked up our bikes until we made the turn toward the Jefferson.

There we had to laugh as, spinning our pedals as quickly as we could, we nearly stood still on the asphalt path. And once we stopped to say hello to Heidi who was chugging along from the other direction, it was impossible to even start riding again. So we turned in our bikes at the station conveniently located there, and spent a few minutes with one of the founding fathers.

As we stood in the rotunda, I remembered reading that the huge bronze image of Jefferson had intentionally been placed in the direct line of sight of the statue of Alexander Hamilton on the north side of the Treasury Building, so that he could keep an eye on his fiercest political rival.

I took a moment to line up my view with his, but although I could only make out the roof of treasury, I got a clear look at the White House. It was practically glowing in the midafternoon sun, and I confess that my heart swelled more than a little at the symbolism.

It's been a hard couple of weeks for me as I have wrestled with finding the appropriate way to respond to an impending Trump presidency. In all that I have heard and read and thought, my brother's advice has guided me most: don't protest the election or any abstract idea of the man, rather speak out against specific actions and policies that you feel are wrong and work for what you think is right.

Returning home I was greeted by some breaking news: Donald Trump confirms that wife Melania and son Barron will stay in New York after the presidential inauguration.

The president's family not living in the White House?

 I think that choice is wrong.

Night Vision

The weather gang was clear: the day would start out toasty for November, but in the afternoon a gusty cold front would drop the temperatures considerably. Even so, at 2 PM we decided to take our chances and head out to Mount Vernon, our house guest in tow.

Indeed, the golden autumn sun had given way to threatening skies when we bought our tickets, and we opted for the last tour of the mansion of the day so that we might beat the storm and still have a chance to explore the outside property. The wind steadily rose as we made our way around the farm raining brightly colored leaves down upon us.

Fortunately the rain held off, and we entered George Washington's home at about quarter to four, the heavy door to the new room blown closed behind us with a bang. I have been to Mount Vernon countless times and in every season, but I realized as we climbed the stairs into the dim second floor hallway that I have never been there in the dark.

And at 4 PM in November with a gathering storm overhead? It was very dark this afternoon. There is no lighting in the mansion except for a few 25-watt bulbs in fake candle-style wall fixtures, and for just a moment as I passed through one of the chilly upstairs guests rooms, the 21st century scales fell from eyes, and I got a real glimpse of the home that Washington held so dear.