En Vacances

There is nothing like a beautifully set table. When it is beautifully set in your honor, that is even better.

We’d never been to “the South” to stay anywhere but with relatives; frankly, staying south of the Mason-Dixon isn’t something which interested us. Childhood memories of mosquitoes the size of helicopters, frog-heavy monsoon rains and sickeningly hot days had discouraged us from ever, ever, ever wanting to go anywhere near there. Yet, somehow, when T. decided to agree to visit the ALA Convention in D.C., it escaped her attention that D.C. is indeed south of the Mason-Dixon. Hello: it is in the SOUTH, and as JFK once said, “Washington is a city with Southern efficiency and Northern charm.” We should have known our vacation would have a few …kinks.

The first kink was the HEAT. It was roasting like only a Southern summer can do. 90% humidity, 100°F/35°C+ temps. We walked off the little walkway between the plane and the airport and gasped. It was after 8 p.m., and it was still in the high eighties — heavily moist and dank. We felt like we were walking through blood, or fetid breath. :shudder: The driver who was sent for us grabbed T’s bag and hustled along to the car, walking briskly and chatting all the way while we gasped and sweated and stumbled after him. When we left Glasgow, it was in the mid sixties, so the thirty degree jump was a bit much.

The second kink was heat-related; T. had neglected to bring her water bottle, so was forced into the $1 per ounce water at the convention center. (And the water came in THREE OUNCE BOTTLES. It was ridiculous.) We were both frequently horribly thirsty, tended to be dehydrated, and with dehydration comes headaches, poor appetite, and general crankiness. We neither of us needed that, so we took to carrying empty bottles with us and filling up anywhere. Unfortunately, D.C.’s water tastes like they pull it unfiltered straight from the Potomac. Bleeech!

The third kink was the mosquitoes, which we’d forgotten about. Neither of us can stand bug spray unless it’s absolutely necessary — and we figured in the city, it wouldn’t be. We had a few late nights which had us walking back to the hotel through city streets, and for the most part, we remained bite-free… but it didn’t last, and we have been chigger’d, mosquitoed, and whatever else’d like everyone else who runs around barefoot and barelegged and wanders at night.

But all of these are very, very small kinks. We met wonderful people during our time in D.C. and Virginia, and enjoyed the careless (in the sense of carefree) hospitality of “pull up a chair, there’s plenty!” Beautiful, bountiful tables were set — or we were pointed toward the fridge and told to help ourselves. We enjoyed hearing actual birds – cardinals, goldfinches, owls, hawks, and doves — instead of the ever-present harsh cries of the garbage-raiding seagulls that plague the city of Glasgow. We enjoyed… silence. And doing absolutely… nothing.

We realized it was the the first time we’d really rested somewhere for ages.

Our friends’ homes could not be more different. One was a new home, in the woods, away from everything except deer, birds, and foxes; the other was an old, old house in the middle of a long, sprawling block surrounded by a gracious old neighborhood and massive trees. One home was open and airy and full of light and carefully placed artwork and pretty toys from the past; the other was dimly cozy and full of nooks and crannies and rooms upon rooms full of interesting old books, objets d’art from all over the world, photographs, puzzle books, and …children. The ping pong table in the garage, the full bar in the basement, the pool table and the swimming pool out front spoke of a house used to being full to the seams and bursting. In one home, we sat and talked sedately, went out to dinner, and enjoyed being grownups; we sat down for tea, had a beautifully laid out breakfast, and admired the perfection of our surroundings. In the other home, we ran outside barefoot, caught fireflies in jars, slept in until we woke up, and ate meals when we thought we were hungry. Cookies were constantly being baked — and devoured — mini-concerts on the piano vied with questions about the periodic table from the younger set (these kids are seriously brilliant. Six, seven and nine year olds talking about the elements and chemistry? Yes.), and everyone was careful to keep out of Grandma’s special chair, so she could do her crossword puzzles and have a nap when she felt like it.

In either house, books were everywhere, one could be part of the conversation, or find a nook and read, and we were made very welcome.

So, we made cake.

It’s what one does for one’s hosts, right? Lemon Cake was the order of the day, and we intended to make this fancy dish at both homes. Nope. Grandma said, “Chocolate. If I’m indulging, it had better be chocolate. Of course, we hear and obey. We couldn’t find Guinness in single cans (and who wants a whole six pack for one cake?!) so we made a modified Guinness Cake with Cointreau, cider, and Crème de Cacao. This lent a chocolaty, orange-y flavor to the mix — tasty. Lacking a regular bundt pan, we baked the cake in a angel food pan — and man did it rise. Glazed with a rich dark ganache, it was truly gorgeous.

Isn’t it ironic that we forgot to take a picture of it, or the huge cinnamon rolls we baked on our last morning there?

No, no, no. Not ironic at all. We were practicing being in the moment.

Okay, no we weren’t, we just forgot, but the fact is, when you’re on vacation, it’s okay to forget. It’s good to practice that “in the moment” thing. As a species, we’ve gotten a little overly involved in our electronics; people will drive and text, check their voicemail in the bathroom, and get on Facebook while in a theater. Sometimes, the “now” is a good place to be — not checking on anything else, not looking to see who else is where, not trying to view the pictures of where we just were while we’re still there. Just enjoying where one happens to be at the moment is enough.

End of sermon.

The intention for this week was to check out the Smithsonian American Art gallery, and their library to see the pop-up exhibition. We had so, so many plans — to visit the Air & Space Museum, to go to an aquarium, the National Archive, the Library of Congress, to take a nighttime tour of the monuments in the city — but after a day of travel and four days of dancing to the tune of a six-page itinerary, T. was exhausted, covered in heat-rash, and limp, and D. was of a mind to just veg somewhere he didn’t have to be wearing his good shoes and slacks. After taking the Orange Line (Washington Metro, which is so much like BART it’s scary) from city in Virginia to another, and visiting a Farmer’s Market (the blueberries this time of year are huge!) we neither of us had any compulsion to do more than watch the world glide by. We did manage to get to the National Cathedral, because we wanted to see the gargoyles and we have a magnetic attraction to visit churches, since they’re always nice and cool inside (bonus!), but other than that, we merely played ping pong, pool, and board games, sang around the piano (and made our hostess cry – with happiness, we hope), lit fireworks, ate corn on the cob, and watched the bats swing and circle in the blue dusk. The morning we left was the neighborhood 4th of July Parade, with police cars, veterans in convertibles, kids on bikes and on foot, and a lone fire engine with its lights flashing. We stood on the walk and waved our flags. (A photo essay on that little slice of Americana to come.)

D. went to school every summer from the age of 5 to his junior year in college. Summers, T. was required to recite times tables daily and do busywork school stuff, and held a summer job from sixth grade on, ’til 8th grade when she had an after school job and a summer job. Neither of us know how to have vacations very well, but in the few days we spent with friends in Virginia, we got a taste of the Quintessentially Happy Childhood, and it was good.

More anon…