Jan 7, 2017 Daily Life, Ramblings and Musings
My D.C. Adventure With My Daughter
(While Prez. Obama is Still Our President)
As posted a few days ago on FB
©January 3rd-4th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
(Note: On our first full day (January 2nd), we’d spent a very long period of time at the National Gallery of Art, West and East Wings, plus the Sculpture Garden, as well as at the Museum of Natural History, both of which places were utterly absorbing and fascinating. I didn’t write about anything at the end of the first day, though, because I forgot to do so. The thing that stayed with me from the National Gallery of Art was the transcendental, translucent painting of the Last Supper by Salvador Dali. S and I stood there for a while, transfixed, spellbound. The thing that made S happy at the Museum of Natural History was, of course, the Dinosaur section, though S enjoyed all of it. Oh, and it drizzled on and off all day, but we enjoyed ourselves thoroughly, despite the weather.)
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Tuesday, January 3rd, 2017, our second full day in D.C.:
We had a damp, but fun day today (our second full day in DC.). LOTS of walking. My daughter is an uncomplaining trooper! So proud of her!
We took the S2 bus into D.C. from the place where we’re staying. Oh, and we saw the White House first thing this morning (upon reaching Lafayette Place), albeit from a short distance. Alas, we hadn’t booked a tour, because one has to do it six months in advance, acc. to the nice young police cop.
Then, we walked from Lafayette Place to the Museum of Natural History, where we spent a LOT of time today (because it’s S’s favourite). It’s an amazing place. And we saw the much-celebrated Hope Diamond, mostly out of a sense of duty. Once there, though, we were captured by it, and everything else in the gemology and rock section. S was delighted by the Dino section, of course. Plenty of beautiful, and sometimes sad, things to see there. The stuffed African elephant killed in 1955 by some hunter made me angry.
Some frustration before we finally got the Hop-on Hop-off DC Trails bus, (which I’d booked the night before), because my phone had died. A kindly woman allowed me to charge it up by allowing me to use her computer in the cafe at the east wing of the National Gallery of Art (where S and I ended up for forty minutes to take a much needed rest, with coffee for me and chocolate croissant for her).
After charging my phone, we tried to find the tour bus, while we walked up and down Constitution Ave, plus parts of Pennsylvania Ave., getting thoroughly confused.
I’m amazed at how my sense of direction (normally very good) vanished so completely. And I got rid of Google Maps, because it didn’t help. Plus, it drained my mobile. Anyway, I felt rather stupid.
It was great once I finally stopped going around in circles, and located the stop to board that danged bus. The tour bus itself is comfortable, and our guide was good. We passed various landmarks and got some good history on them.
Got off at Jefferson, spent a quiet time there. It’s a powerful and peaceful place to be. We loved it. I think it’s always been one of my special favorites. S loved it too. We talked about how Jefferson lived books, and she asked me, “Mom, do you think I’m a nerd?”
I considered her question, and answered, “Yes. We both are.”
She said, “Do you think I need some accessories to be a nerd?”
“Like glasses?”
“Yes,” she answered eagerly.
“No,” was my firm reply, “Thank your stars you have good vision. There’ll be plenty of time for glasses in your middle age.”
She pouted good-naturedly.
(She really, really wants to wear glasses. I love my tween!)
We saw various buildings from the outside, incl. the Washington Monument. No time to go up, alas!
There is so much to explore here, and any one museum takes hours!
Tomorrow, the Washington Zoo awaits (S is very keen and excited to go). Then, the Hop-on Hop-off DC Trails bus. Hoping to catch three or four monuments incl. Lincoln, FDR and the Vietnam Memorial, plus the American History Museum. Also, I really want to go to the Hirschhorn, which I used to haunt back in my time as a chaperone on school trips to D.C.
I might also perhaps try the Holocaust Museum lower level, if we can get in. Not sure if we can do all of this, but am going to give it a go!
Ambitious? You bet!
If I get to half what I want S to be able to see tomorrow, though, I’ll be content.
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Wednesday, January 4th, 2017 – our last full day in D.C.:
What a day!
First the Smithsonian Washington Zoo at 9:14 a.m. My delightful and gracious sister-in-law had introduced us a couple of days ago to the convenience of Uber (which I’d hitherto avoided), and we availed of this to get to the Zoo. And it was a damp, drizzly morning with only die-hard animal-lovers like us up and about there. S was in seventh heaven. We loved the pandas, of course (four of them, one of whom is the one year old Bei-Bei) and adored the elephants – named Suvarna, Maharani, and Kamala. They were sweet attentive and wonderful. We got their back-stories (Suvarna and Kamala, friends, not sisters, had both been orphaned at 1.5 years of age, then wound up in Calgary, Canada. Kamala had her baby, Maharani, who now is a bit of a spoiled, pushy youngling at 21 or 22 years of age, compared with the lofty 41 years that her mother and “aunty” share).
I sang to the elephants (my mother’s favorite song, “Kurai Ondrum Illai”), and they came close to listen!
Then, there were all the other marvelous animals –the wolves, the oryxes, the gazelles, the cranes, the flamingoes, the caracal, various smaller mammals, great apes (my favorites), beautiful sand cats and fennec foxes and more. We were at the zoo for almost four hours.
Finally, we tore ourselves away, and by means of our local Uber-Hermes, winged our way to the place where we’d take our tour bus. We wound up at the Air and Space Museum, where we spent a goodly period of time, and took off in a flight simulator whose destination was the outer edge of a local black hole. We saw supernovae and almost got sucked into the black hole, but made off just before that. We needed to get back to earth quickly, and a convenient worm hole showed up. We swept through it à la something that resembled the opening credits of Doctor Who, and then, Earth swam into view – except that it was an Earth several centuries in the future. We were stopped by the local flying police cars, and then, the simulator ended our ride. Mucho fun!
We took the tour bus again, and this time ended up at the American History Museum. We saw just a few sections of it, but it was all good stuff, including transportation and the history of electricity here. We also saw the original Star Spangled Banner. COOL!
My phone had, of course, predictably died a few times today, but each time I was prepared with my charger, and managed to juice it just enough to either get the Hop On Hop Off Bus, or an Uber. We went back to where we were staying, had supper and then got back into D.C. proper. We were all set to catch our Night-Sights, via the Hop-On, Hop-Off DC Trails Night Tour bus, on which I had secured seats for the Night Tour
We waited at the rendezvous point at the second stop where they said they could pick us up at 7:10 p.m. It was COLD by now, and we were reasonably dressed for D.C., but not for the bitter wind that swept around in eddies like an avenging god, and decided to adopt us as its pet victims, biting and vindictive in its affections.
The bus did not show up. I waited, then telephoned them. Despite my calling them every ten minutes, and getting assurances that the bus was “on its way,” and “almost there,” the bus never materialized at 15th and New York. By now, it was 7:38 p.m. Then, the dispatcher told me to go get the bus at 15th and Pennsylvania. So, our teeth chattering with cold, we half-ran, half-walked to that place.
And the bus wasn’t there!
Did I mention that I have a Stoic for a daughter? Not a word of complaint about how tired she was (We’d already walked five or six miles by that point in the day). No moaning and groaning. No grumpiness. She’s an example to us all.
(And did I mention that my phone gave out AGAIN? Too many damned APPS! I turned with relief to my daughter’s phone, which she’s careful to keep turned off and charged for just such situations. I raise a toast to my good child!)
Using her phone, I waxed wroth, gave the dispatcher a mild earful, and said I would like my money back. He said, in a faint voice, that I should call tomorrow morning about that.
I turned to S, and said, “Let’s forget about the Night Bus Tour, and let’s do it on foot!”
My tween-trooper said, “Yes, Mom!” in cheerful agreement, clearly relieved that my half hour of mild distress followed by five minutes of ire at the DC Trails Bus-folk had magically transformed into a giddy determination to DO this thing ourselves.
So, we walked all the way from Pennsylvania Ave and 15th Street (passing the Washington Monument) all the way down the Washington Mall towards Lincoln Memorial. We paused to photograph ourselves sitting on Einstein’s lovely, wrinkly, bronze statue, and rubbed him affectionately on the nose.
Then we walked and walked till we reached the majestic Lincoln Memorial. It was quite beautiful and brightly lit, and there were clearly determined people like ourselves out there.
A crescent moon hung like a silver fingernail in the sky and added mystery to the setting. Bright white lights glittered along the way and were reflected like hard diamonds in tremulous water in the Tidal Basin. We were happy, although our feet felt broken.
Then, we went down, and found ourselves at the Vietnam Memorial. It is, as many might remember, a sobering and moving and beautiful Memorial. Even into the dark, it held us in thrall. We shone a light on the names as we went past. I told her about how Maya Lin’s simple, but arresting, design for the wall had won the public design competition for the Memorial, and that she was just a young woman in her early twenties.
In silence, we looked at the names marching past us.
S wanted to know more about the war.
I told her a little bit about the Vietnam War, and added that for so many American victims , there must have many more Vietnamese ones.
She asked, “Who won?”
When I answered, “No one,” she grew thoughtful, and we were both silent.
The Nurses’ Memorial after that is one of my favorite set of statues – always affects me deeply. We walked around it, marveling at the pathos, the suffering and the courage clearly portrayed there.
We walked along the Tidal Basin in the dark, along the lit path. There were scores of ducks holding a solemn conclave in the water and discussing philosophical matters, and we didn’t intrude.
Oddly, we felt quite safe, until I realized that we were two females walking along a path in the dark, and decided abruptly to get into the sidewalk along Constitution Ave. I have to say, it really is safe there at night, or so it seems! Perhaps, we were just lucky.
So, we saw quite a lot this evening. We were satisfied. It was time to go home – but how?
Well, we walked and walked and walked – almost all the way back the way we’d come. Poor S! By now, she was lurching. I cursed myself for being a hard, heartless mother, making my child walk so far all day. I kept apologizing to her, but she reassured me she loved it, but was just very tired.
It was now 9:11 p.m. Not a cafe in sight! We turned down Constitution Ave into 17th Street. We kept up our spirits, and I promised S that I’d find a cafe to plug my phone in and call an Uber. Alas, not one single cafe was to be found.
Then, praise be! A McDonald’s loomed into view along our right!
And turning to S (who knows my rather disapproving attitude to McDonald’s), I said: “I never thought I’d ever say that I’m happy to see a McDonald’s, of all things, but I’m SO happy to see one!”
She laughed. So did I.
With relief, we lurched in, asked for an outlet, were directed to one close to the ceiling – an odd place to have it! A courteous young African-American man helped me plug it in, and within minutes, I had enough power in it to turn it on, call an Uber, and have it arrive in two minutes!
Clutching our lemonades, S and I tumbled with gratitude into the car, and reached home by a minute before 10:00. Our lovely hosts had hot chocolate with vanilla and cinnamon waiting for us, and cookies and brownies, as well.
We were grateful for a life where we *could* have such things at the end of a beautiful, long, exhausting, varied, magical, occasionally frustrating, and wonderfully satisfying and adventurous day.
S tumbled into sleep after a shower and a leg-foot massage by her doting and somewhat guilt-ridden, Mom. Said Mom is now here, sitting in a comfortable chair in the beautiful home of our kind relatives-in-law, revisiting her long day, and feeling oddly pleased with how a setback turned into an adventure.
Thanks for reading!
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Tags: #mother-daughter-trip-to-Washington-D.C.., #Ramblings, A Tourist in the Nation's Capital, Symbolic Visit
Jun 3, 2016 Daily Life, Ramblings and Musings
The Sky-Clad Man on the Trail
©June 3rd, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
Today, I took my dog to the Sheepfold part of the Fells near our house, and she had a grand time romping around, chasing, and being chased by other dogs.
My dog is a bit like my daughter, my husband, and me, in that she loves the company of her kind, as we love the company of our kind, but after a little while, she longs for solitude, or for quiet time with a loved one.
So, after this mad dashing about with other dogs, doing doggy things, and chasing after sticks, she came up to me grinning. I said, “Walkie?” She wagged her eagerness, and I slipped the leash back on her. The dog-romping area is a wild-flower-studded, broad meadow, ringed by woods, and this is the official area where dogs are off-leash.
The day was clement, somewhat cool, with cloudy skies alternating with sunny, blue patches overhead. The trees looked grateful, and richly green. The ground was springy under our feet, and old pine-needles made a soft brown carpet underfoot. Holly and I walked happily, a unit. Sunlight fell softly upon our shoulders, and the air moved easily in and out of our lungs. I felt alive and happy, and judging by Holly’s expressive tail and eyebrows, she felt the same.
We took the usual trail, then changed course, and went on one we hadn’t been on before – this was uphill. At one point, we found ourselves looking down a steep cliff at a large pond below, although we kept to the forested path much of the time. We met a bicyclist who had parked near a tree and was looking at a map of the trails, who told me that the pond far below was called “Dark Hollow Pond.” How magical and mysterious – nice!
You would think that I, a person who likes to think philosophical thoughts, read and write fanciful fiction and poetry, would have some deep insights into life or nature, or existence, while doing this kind of walking with my dog.
And you would be wrong.
I think NO thoughts, or no thoughts that I can remember when I walk. Mostly, I’m a seeing, moving, sensing creature, completely attuned to my dog’s state of being. I’m an utterly blank page. The few thoughts that I do entertain are of an essentially trivial and forgettable nature.
On one of my window-sills in my blue room upstairs sit a few, very tiny, perfectly cast, bronze statues of Buddhist monks – a couple of them are in sitting meditation attitude, and another couple depict them in a frozen state of walking meditation. I feel like the monks in walking meditation mode. There is a deep, deep calmness that descends on me in the woods. I could walk forever, and die walking at such times.
At one point, I went from feeling cool to feeling very hot (after much uphill trekking), so I paused to remove my light jacket, keeping the dog’s leash firmly between my knees, while I worked my arms out of my jacket.
Suddenly, I heard a meek voice say, “Could you please hold your dog?” I turned, and saw an elderly, somewhat flabby-looking man, shirtless, with a backpack. I said, “I am holding her, see?” and showed him her leash. Elderly Man sighed in relief, and walked on. I am always surprised by the nervousness with which some people view dogs. I see dogs as being more or less either friendly towards, or uninterested in, humans. Very rarely have I met a completely unfriendly dog (of course, street dogs are another matter, but even when I lived in India, I knew many amiable and amicable street dogs, on several of whom I bestowed treats and names.)
Holly and I walked on, upwards towards an even rockier place, which we hadn’t seen before.
And there, a couple of hundred yards ahead of us, right on a craggy outcrop, I got the shock of my life.
With his back to me, a white man stood, completely naked to the world. Framed by the sky and rocks around him, ringed by trees, he stood, his arms raised, as if in trance.
The picture froze in my mind, as I froze there on the rocks below.
And the following non-thoughts/reactions coursed through me in that instant of seeing:
Was he part of some sort of cult?
Was this a nudist colony?
Was that shirtless old man I’d seen earlier on the trail part of this man’s coterie of naked men?
Were they old, gay men meeting up secretly, far from their families and friends?
Maybe the Naked Man was the leader of some horrific black-magic, Tantric, Satanic cult.
Perhaps, he was sacrificing his own son to his God.
(Or, maybe, he was just enjoying the sunshine on his ageing, naked body.)
In any case, from my brief and horrified glance, it was clear that he was not young, maybe in his sixties. How I could have deduced all this in one split second, and just from seeing his back, buttocks and legs, I cannot say, but that much was clear.
Holly and I stood there, aghast for that split second.
I didn’t want to go further. He was right on the trail and we’d have had to see him in all his naked glory (or not) if we’d continued. And, heavens forfend, I might have had to (shudder) chat with him about the weather, or exchange pleasantries about how nice it was to be naked in the summer, far from the madding crowd.
That is not the kind of thing yours truly does. I. Am. A. Prude.
So, as if moved by one united impulse, both Holly and I literally turned tail, and ran back down the trail whence we had come – and we did so almost silently, except for the jingling of her dog tags, and my mangal-sutra. We didn’t stop to look until we’d gone a safe distance. I heaved a sigh of relief. The Naked Man hadn’t heard our approach, or seen us.
Thank goodness.
I don’t know why I ran. I felt like a frightened, Victorian maiden. This was odd. I am NOT a spring chicken, fainting away at the sight of a naked man. Okay, chicken, yes, but not a spring one!
I think it’s because I wanted to let the man be in his own happy, private zone of freedom, a true digambara (“sky-clad”). And I did NOT want the vision of some naked stranger to mar my beautiful walk. AND, I think I had the teeniest bit of primeval fear. (Sorry, men!)
Well, anyway, Holly and I returned to the beaten path, and ventured up some other, lovely, twisty trails, going higher and higher on the path, until we met two women and three unleashed dogs (a beautiful Australian Blue-Heeler, a charming Mutt, and a handsome Australian shepherd). The women were very nice, and when they saw me hesitate and stop with Holly at a safe distance from them, they immediately leashed their dogs (if you own a dog, you know that the relationship between leashed and un-leashed dogs is mostly fine, but sometimes fierce and odd. Something about the leash, I guess. It was clear that they understood this, because when we exchanged hellos, and I thanked them for leashing their dogs, they were very gracious).
And then, goodness me, I saw the Elderly Man with the backpack whom we’d met on the trail, before I’d almost run into the Naked Man. He didn’t recoil in horror from Holly this time, and even allowed her to sniff him. “You’ve had a long hike,” he said to me. “So have you,” I replied. Smiling, he went on his way, and we went on ours.
After another long uphill climb up the trail, and back, Holly and I made it back to the Sheepfold, where she said hello to a few canine buddies. Then, she looked eagerly at me. “Holly want to go home?” I asked. She thought-beamed a clear “Yes,” at me.
And so, we went home. She’s one happy dog today.
And I had a story to tell my family.
And the skies remained cloudy, with clear, blue patches (in case, you wondered).
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Okay, so I’m feeling very clever right now! Why, do you ask? Well, it’s because I’d published this same post about an hour earlier and I’d titled it, “The Naked Man on the Trail.” Within my post, I’d made a mention of the Indian Jain term digambara, which translated, apparently means “sky-clad.”
So, I cleverly changed the slug on this post, and retitled it, as well.
But why? you persist in asking.
Well, The Daily Post’s Daily prompt, which I only just read a few minutes ago was the single word, “Sky.”
Tags: #essay, #Ramblings, #walkinthewoodswithdog
Aug 21, 2015 Ramblings and Musings
I love the woods near our house, and so does our dog, Holly.
We’ve taken to walking there in the blazing heat and quiet of mid-day, when no one else is around. The air shimmers, but once we enter the trails, heat falls away, and the trees shed cool, green shadows around us.
Sometimes, we might meet a man and his dog. I hold on to Holly’s collar, and call out, “Is your dog friendly?” for Holly has sometimes been nervous around bigger male dogs. Usually, the answer is “Yes.” So, I release her, and she walks over to his dog, while his dog trots up to check her out. She and her new friend flirt happily, chasing each other, barking, play-inviting and dashing through the bushes.
When dogs play, it’s a poignant reminder to us about what we’ve lost — pure fun, with Time as a distant, banished entity. Today, I watch, wonder and nervousness intertwined — for dog-play can turn deadly with the least little provocation sometimes — but all is well. The man’s dog now trots up, grinning at me, wanting love. I pat the dog’s head and praise him. This one’s name is Polo (“Not after Marco?” I ask. “No, after Edgar Allan Poe,” replies the man. Ah, a literary dog-owner. Nice!) We watch our dogs cavort. When I explain about the two times that Holly got besieged by an aggressive dog, hence my nervousness at first, the man says his dog would rather make love than war. This makes me happy, of course. Meanwhile, Holly is barking happily at Poe-lo, who answers her, and they chase and chase and chase each other.
Very soon, I feel Time turning the earth like a wheel. I need to move on. I call to Holly, and she comes reluctantly. The man and I say polite goodbyes, and we go our separate ways with our dogs. The friendly anonymity of people with dogs in the woods in the daytime is a social fact.
Holly and I crunch on. Occasionally, I see a deer dashing away in the distance, a brown and white blur. Holly senses a disturbance in the force without actually seeing the deer, and runs in its direction, but at my call, “pup-pup-pup-pup-puppy!” [sung in a five-three intervallic chant, or pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-ga (shuddh) to Indian-music folks], she comes bounding back, tongue hanging out sideways, a grin on her face, and her tail flag-wagging. I realize I don’t need to have her on an actual leash (except that in the city, where traffic, scared people, and squirrels might pose a risk) – she and I are connected by an invisible one.
We make our way up rocky trails and mossy ones, with pine-needles soft under our feet, and wild blueberry bushes lining some paths, and reach our favorite lookout spot, an outcrop of rugged rock jutting into the sky. We sit quietly and gaze out, two beings in an envelope of stillness and contentment. Our communion is absolute. I wish I could read her mind — mostly, it’s empty like mine, I imagine. She shifts around, and settles closer to me on the post-noon hot rocks. Somehow, this heat is not unbearable. It’s the heat from the roads that makes summer awful. When the earth herself gives off heat, I don’t really mind, as long as there’s some water and shade nearby.
And that reminds me — I pour water out for her to drink and she lap-laps it up gratefully. A dog lapping water is one of the sweetest, most musical sounds in the world (humans glugging water, on the other hand — actually, those aren’t such bad sounds, either, just not as musical). Done drinking, she turns her head away, and pants softly, checking the air for … wolves? Wolverines? Deer? Foxes? An ancient monster? These woods are tame, really. The most we’ll find here are rabbits, snakes, deer. I’m sure there are foxes and raccoons, but I haven’t seen any. I look at her nose quivering this way and that. The sight fills me with tenderness, gets me wondering about her. Holly’s nose is her most mysterious feature. What odorful wonders must present themselves! The landscape must look like some sort of aromatic version of a topological map to her, and she must be mapping out terrain in ways I cannot imagine. (Hmmm … Strange, four-legged animal, herbivorous? Mark it here, here, and here. Small, jumping, large-eared creature with small droppings? There, oh, and there. What’s this? Oh no! Not this! Better draw a nasal boundary around this — better not to mess with it.)
Shaking myself out of this silly train of thought, I look into her bowl, and notice there’s some water remaining. Not wanting to waste it, I wash her paws, which I imagine might be hot from all that dashing about. I toss some of the last droplets of water into the heat-curled blueberry bushes. The blueberries are long gone, but earlier in the summer, we sometimes go blueberry picking. I didn’t this year, but my daughter and husband did, and came back with small, ripe blueberries, nothing like those monstrous, cultivated ones in the supermarkets. These were sweet and tart, and delicious. Next year, I shall go, too, and pick them. The woods are generous.
The earth’s heartbeat is gentle here. In the far distance is the hush of traffic. We listen. Cicadas shrill in a rising wave of sound. A hushed bird speaks into this chorus, somewhere. After a little while, we know without speaking that it’s time to head back. She leads the way, and I follow, she leash-less and contented, and I unleashed, at peace.
When we reach the main trail, I put the leash back on, just before we reach the once-full pond, which is all sludgy now anyway, with the ragingly hot weather. I prefer my dog non-muddy. As we walk by the mud-clogged water, I yearn for its earlier state — there used to be ducks, even swans sometimes here. Frogs would chant loudly, too. I wonder where they are now. I wonder whether they’ll return. I mourn the passing of things with an intensity that I didn’t know I had.
Turning away, we head back to the road, with shimmering heat-waves emanating from the tarmac, and cross over the over-pass to the street that leads to our house. Holly’s step quickens. She knows home is imminent, and her whole aspect sings, as she pulls forward. She loves the woods, but she loves home even more, I think. When we reach home, she dashes up to my husband and my daughter, and lets them know all about her day with her flag-tail. Then, she flops down heavily, and rests.
Turning away, we head back to the road, with shimmering heat-waves emanating from the tarmac, and cross over the over-pass to the street that leads to our house. Holly’s step quickens. She knows home is imminent, and her whole aspect sings, as she pulls forward. She loves the woods, but she loves home even more, I think. When we reach home, she dashes up to my husband and my daughter, and lets them know all about her day with her flag-tail. Then, she flops down heavily, and rests.
And so do I. I like this simple life. And I’m glad to have a dog who shares her talent for joyfulness with me.
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Tags: #Ramblings