My phone was blowing up with news reports and social media notifications-- the Northern Lights were visible from Arlington! I was disappointed when I stepped out on the upstairs deck and faced north, though. The sky was not alive with dancing lights. I had read that the Aurora might be more visible with a camera, so I pulled out my phone. Sure enough, I got a faint glimpse of the glory when I looked at my screen. It wasn't the light show I hoped for, but it was still kind of cool.
A few months ago, the license plate reader at the car wash stopped letting me in. I bought an annual pass back in salt, mud, and crow poop season, so technically I have prepaid to wash my car every day for a year. The expense was less than you might think, and the concept is that I can simply drive up, the gate will open, I'll proceed to the washing shed, and then I'll relax as my car is vigorously rinsed, washed, rinsed again, and dried. But waiting for an attendant to punch in my license plate number really spoiled the easy in/easy out vibe.
Then, when I renewed my registration, I noticed a warning that when a plate is unreadable, it must be replaced, otherwise, it is considered a traffic violation. I went out and took a hard look at my plates. They were definitely showing their 14 years; the blue was peeling off most of the letters and numbers. That's why the car wash wouldn't let me in.
Still, I'm a stubborn sort, and I didn't really want new plates; I felt like I had just learned those, and it seemed my only option was a specialty plate with a custom insignia. Even so, I had noticed that on the standard plates, the state, which started with Zs plus four digits at least 20 years ago, was up to Ts (my own plate was an X), and I secretly envied the TWA and TRA plates. I considered my choices on and off for a few months and finally opted for a personalized plate that might not immediately read like one. I chose THX 1998.
All of this is to explain that license plate numbers have been a big topic of conversation around here lately, and so I'm very sensitive to them. That's why today, in the Target parking lot, I laughed out loud when I saw these two next to each other:
Heidi had her surgery follow-up appointment today, and the news was great. Since she is healing so well and getting more mobile every day, I asked her if she wanted to go to lunch. "Can you find a place that Lucy can go, too?" she replied.
A little internet research revealed several options, but we settled on Vola's, a dockside restaurant in Old Town Alexandria that not only allows dogs on the waterfront patio but also has a dog menu. The weather was glorious, a classic October day with golden sunshine, blue skies, and a little nip in the air, and the experience was as promised: the staff was welcoming, and the other patrons were tolerant and amused by a very well-behaved Lucy.
The food was good, too. Lucy loved her yogurt ice cream, but she did leave her apples in the bowl. My grilled grouper sandwich with marinated tomatoes and served with housemade chips was yummy. Heidi enjoyed her Beyond Burger, too, especially since it was topped with french-fried onion shreds and green goddess sauce.
After lunch, the three of us explored the network of little waterfront parks leading south to Jones Point before looping back to our car. Old Town was bustling for a weekday, and the fun vibe of our afternoon out stayed with us long after we headed home.
Heidi recently volunteered to serve on the board of our residents' association. I know what you're thinking: How come the fully employed person took that job rather than the recently retired person? It's mostly because Heidi's disposition and personality are more of a fit, and I promised to be her support staff.
So far, I have helped with the technology and correspondence, and I'm also in charge of the sandwich board sign that the board uses to communicate information to the community. The sign is a job kind of like anchoring the school news or being the school mascot: something I always wanted to try because it seems fun.
The nitty-gritty of the task is a little more complex. The letters are printed on brittle acetate and they easily crack and break. The board itself is dirty from standing in the elements, and the channels are clogged, so the letters don't slide easily; rather, you have to bend them slightly to place them, and then they are more likely to break. And since this was my first time composing and placing a message, there was a learning curve regarding how much would fit on a line. I had to re-do it several times, and a few letters were lost in the rearrangement.
Even so, when at last it was finished, I was pleased with my efforts, despite the grime under my nails. And I'm sure that next month, my sign will be even better!
I received my lifetime senior national parks pass in the mail today. For as long as I can remember, I've been gleefully looking forward to being eligible for it, but I was a bit rueful at first when it arrived. Because I'm a senior.
For life.
But then I realized that would be true whether or not I could get into all the national parks for free, so I shrugged it off and started planning my next park visit.
I have a friend from high school who insists on writing me letters and sending them in the mail. She never calls, she never texts, she never emails, but I find a hand-addressed envelope in my mailbox every few months with a corresponding letter inside. As charmed as I am to receive them, I find that I am very out of practice when it comes to replying, and I often put it off.
How different this is from when we met! Then, we were in boarding school in Switzerland, it was the late 1970s, and pretty much the only way to communicate with the people you cared for on other continents (and there were many) was by mail. Oh how we longed for those thin, blue Par Avion envelopes to peek out of our mail cubbies.
Of course, I was an excellent correspondent, and I continued to be one even as we all moved back to the States for college. But in the ensuing 45 years, that skill has gone very rusty. And so today when I finally replied to her last letter, after too long, I started like this: I always love to receive your letters, and I really appreciate your persistence.
Because I do; I really do.
The light was golden, and the air crisp this afternoon when we arrived at a nearby park for a track meet for kids ages 2 to 7. Some friends invited us to their 2-year-old's last race of the season, and although I'd never heard of such an event, it was easy to see why it would be popular.
About 50 kids competed in four age groups. The youngest, 2-and 3-year-olds, ran about 50 yards, most of them from mom to dad. The next group's distance was maybe 10 yards further, but the kindergarten and first graders ran 400 meters. It was all low-stakes and fun, with t-shirts and medals for every runner.
Best of all, it was over in less than 30 minutes, which was about right for the attention span of the assembled group of athletes and their supporters.
