Cutting edge?

It's pretty sad when a woman who has refused to even consider getting a portable mp3 player finds herself more in touch with the cutting edge of automotive tech than the radio guy whose job it is to talk about the auto show in Michigan.

If that sounds somewhat smug, well... I'm feeling a little bit smug. When asked to name some of the cars to pay attention to, he (of course) listed several luxury brands, and then commented on one of them (a BMW, I think) that even Americans will have to begin thinking about smaller cars in connection to luxury.

And I thought, "Well, duh! Jeez, I could have told you that more than a year ago." In fact, it was just under a year ago that my husband and I replaced our car that had finally sputtered its last with a used Civic hybrid. And I'd already driven a friend's Civic hybrid for a day, and discovered that it was, as I've been known to mention on a few occasions, a miniature luxury car. The ergonomics are incredible, the interior finishes very well done, the lines snazzy, the drive... sweet.

I mean, come on, people! Hollywood, perhaps the second most image conscious town in the USA (the first being, of course, Washington DC), has long given the Prius the stamp of approval. George Clooney drives a Tango. And, well, the Cooper Mini has been out there for a little while now, and while its fuel economy isn't as good as a regular Civic, it's got serious glitz factor going. The "new trend" toward smaller cars with luxury detailing has been going on for a little while now, folks.

And well, I can tell you, as someone who drives a hybrid, people often ask to "go for a ride" when they find out. Recently, someone at work even commented, "Yeah, I heard you drove a fancy car..." And I drive the 2003 model - not the most up-to-date one. My only "complaint" is that it takes less than a tank of gas to drive from Washington, D.C. to Ohio, so I forget to stop and wind up with stiff muscles at the end of the drive.

The joys of public transit

My legs ache from the uphill walk to Metro this morning and my shoulders are complaining of the hike last night with a banjo. And if I'd just give in, I could walk a couple of blocks from my office and have a car again while I wait for mine to get out of the shop. Instead I'm considering taking Metro on Thursdays anyway, even once the car is repaired, at least while the weather is so nice.

If that consideration were based solely on my wish to help the environment, it would likely be a tough sell to my aching limbs, I confess, but there are other compensations, even aside from the slow toning my legs are getting.

Yesterday, as I went to pick up the card that would allow me to use the Zipcar system (which I'm enjoying. I use a car when I absolutely have to, but otherwise don't have to worry about it - no getting a guest pass for my building, no looking for parking in my neighborhood. Pure genius.), Craig and I met on a train platform. We emerged from the tunnel into warm late afternoon sunlight. A couple blocks down to the Zipcar office, and I notice that the actual street it's on is closed for a farmer's market. Score! After I get my Zipcard, we began wandering around, looking at the goodies on display.

I wound up with a quart of really *good* yogurt - this stuff reminds me of the yogurt my mom made for me as a kid, some tomatoes, some greens, a block of feta from the yogurt guy, half a boule of really crusty bread - nicely yeasty and chewy, 2 perfect Asian pears, just wanting a day or two, 2 portabellas, with an extra stem thrown in ("It's good for soup - just chop it up real good"), and a head of organically grown garlic. Back down into the Metro, plotting my purchases into a tasty dinner (portabella steaks with chopped garlic and a little white wine on toasted crusty bread, a salad with heirloom tomatoes, feta cheese, and a light dressing. For dessert? Yogurt and honey.), I take a few moments as the train emerges from the tunnel into the light to do a little quick birdwatching - you see, the train comes out behind a shopping center, and where the parking lot ends is a bit of a swampy area, where I sometimes see herons. I saw one on Monday, but not last night.

I think breakfast tomorrow may be mushroom soup with crusty bread, since tonight, a friend is holding a birthday gathering and I've been wanting that soup for nearly a day now. I'm thinking next week of looking at the mixed mushroom boxes, seeing if any cooking greens are looking good (one of the few things that improves mushroom soup is adding a few chopped greens), checking out the mixed grain cider bread (in little loaves), picking up the dried mushroom mix and some more of that amazing yogurt. Maybe even a quart of cider by then... And some green zebra tomatoes, because they're just so nifty looking...

A busy day

Went to the Smithsonian today and took in the Portuguese exhibit at the Freer and Sackler, and the National Museum of African Art (One of the neat things about the Smithsonian is that these three museums all connect underground, so you can start wandering in one of them and come up to the outside again in another. Technically, there wasn't any of the exhibit in the Freer, but that's where we came in, and they're always mentioned together anyway...)

The Freer and Sackler have long been favorite haunts of mine - they tend to be quieter than the Air and Space Museum, for instance, or even the main galleries of the Natural History Museum in summer. And space is divided in interesting ways, and there are plenty of nicely padded benches for sitting and contemplating on (or for resting feet that have carried you through a maze of marble hallways and stairs). And best of all, if you make it all the way down to the bottom of the Sackler, there is the pottery room. The pottery room has a lovely, quiet fountain in it, and a few, exquisite pieces of modern pottery.

Hushed footfalls pause
Listen to silent whispers
Feel a painted breeze

And, of course, once you are out of the galleries, there are truly beautiful gardens, walkways, and decorative pools to enjoy, behind the castle. Flowers everywhere, and benches scattered to catch the shades of different times of day. Marble walks give way to brick, and clever gardeners have sculpted a fantasia from hedge.

Under an arched hedge,
Afternoon shadows tiptoe
Toward bright water.

The National Mall is growing dry and dusty from the heat, and from the millions of visitors who stroll across the grass, but even here, the trees spread shade, and there are vendors selling ices. And if you know where to go, there are sunken sculpture gardens with some shade, and quiet walkways. Plus, of course, the tall marble porches of the museums seem to offer relief.

Robins flick dust,
Watching tourists come and go.
Maybe scraps will fall.

After all that walking, I was glad to catch a train back out of the city, and stop to pick up the last few items for tomorrow from the grocery.

Dr. Martin Luther King Day reflections*

I can still remember it. We had come to Washington, D.C. and were visiting the monuments and museums. We had been to the Air and Space Museum, where we'd looked at a space capsule and watched the film about the Enola Gay. We'd been out to Arlington, where we had watched the solemn Changing of the Guard and visited the Kennedy graves. I have to admit, I was probably a little bit young to be much affected by the Kennedy graves, though I was amazed at all the little white stones over those low slopes.

And here we were, standing on yet another set of grey marble stairs, looking up at a giant seated Lincoln, sternly gazing out from his marble canopy. And my dad was drawing for my little brother and me a vivid word picture of a huge crowd gathered to hear a speech given there. And he told us how he'd seen that speech on television, halfway across the country in a small community hospital while recovering from a broken leg, and how he'd known that he was being called to help make the world a better place to be. He didn't yet know how - that came later, but he knew that he needed to make the world a better place.

There is a story that once upon a time, the Baal Shem Tov, a Jewish mystic, knew a secret place in the forest, where he would light a fire in a certain way and pray a certain prayer, and the Presence would come. In time, he died, but his students carried on, though they'd forgotten the exact place. Still, they lighted the fire and prayed the prayer, and still, the Presence came. In time, the fire was forgotten, but not the prayer, and still, the Presence came. Today, we have forgotten the place, the fire, and even the prayer, but we tell the story and it is enough.

As we stood on those steps, my dad told us the story of a speech, and how that speech had called him to respond to that Presence, and it was enough. I will not claim that that one moment was what resulted in how my siblings and I have turned out. It probably had a lot more to do with being raised to use our words, to believe in justice, in equality, that violence is not the answer, that every human being *deserves* access to food, shelter, medical care, security from intentional harm - not because they are especially good, or especially rich, or any of that, but because we are all human beings.

I was not alive to hear Dr. King in person. I have, of course, seen clips of that speech, heard them on the radio, read a transcript, and seen the pictures. But it was though the living story that my dad told us that day on those steps, and through the way my parents tried to live by those ideals that they shared with Dr. King that I was given the gift to hear the Presence that was in that speech. And I pray that it is enough to keep it alive in me.

* Okay, so I'm a day late in actually writing them down, but I was thinking them through yesterday.